Stranded With The Captain
Stranded With The Captain
Sharon Hartley
What she wished for...and more!An adventure is exactly what Cat Sidran wants when she and two friends charter a boat for a sailing trip in the Florida Keys. Throw in a swarthy captain, and Cat has the perfect amount of excitement. Until pirates overtake them, and Captain Javi Rivas reveals himself to be an FBI agent.Working with Javi gives Cat a thrill like she’s never felt before. She can handle danger for a couple of days if it means saving her friends, but anything longer...? She loves her quiet life; Javi thrives on adrenaline. She needs to forget her captain...if that's even possible.
What she wished for...and more!
An adventure is exactly what Cat Sidran wants when she and two friends charter a boat for a sailing trip in the Florida Keys. Throw in a swarthy captain, and Cat has the perfect amount of excitement. Until pirates overtake them, and Captain Javi Rivas reveals himself to be an FBI agent.
Working with Javi gives Cat a thrill like she’s never felt before. She can handle danger for a couple of days if it means saving her friends, but anything longer... She loves her quiet life; Javi thrives on adrenaline. She needs to forget her captain...if that’s even possible.
Cat swallowed. Why was it so hard to breathe?
“Having second thoughts?” Javi asked, his voice soft like a caress.
“No.”
She sucked in a deep breath, placed her palms on his chest and slid her fingers up to his shoulders, stepping so close that their bodies almost touched. She could smell the clean, salty ocean on him, the wine on his breath.
He hesitated, dark eyes troubled, searching her face.
The boat rocked slightly beneath her feet.
She was again losing her chance to do something reckless, to live in the moment. Because she was afraid.
She was always afraid.
She met his gaze, relieved at what she read in his expression. No question the captain wanted her.
Before he could ask something stupid like if she was sure, she placed her lips on his and closed her eyes.
Dear Reader (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5),
Writing Stranded with the Captain allowed me to revisit one of my oldest passions: sailing! My first date with my husband was on a little Sunfish rented from Dinner Key Marina in Coconut Grove. Something about zipping along the water being propelled by nothing but the wind made me fall in love with Max and sailing and, before life got too complicated, we spent a lot of time on a beloved sloop named Spree. Some of our best vacations were spent exploring the clear waters of Biscayne Bay and the Florida Keys, although the original Spree wasn’t as large or as tricked out as the one Cat and her friends charter in Stranded with the Captain.
We’ve moved to the west coast of Florida now and are looking for a new boat, probably a catamaran because of water depth. We have a new bay to discover, and life is always full of adventures. I’m hopeful—and fairly confident—that we won’t encounter anything as dangerous as Cat and Javi do in the Bahamas, but you never know. After all, Tampa Bay’s most famous festival involves a pirate named Gasparilla!
I hope you enjoy Javi and Cat’s roller-coaster ride as much as I enjoyed writing it. And, please, if you get the opportunity, go for a sail. You just might discover a new love, too.
Namaste,
Sharon
Stranded with the Captain
Sharon Hartley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SHARON HARTLEY has settled into her new home on the west coast of Florida. She’s found interesting places to volunteer, a new orchid club and loves her TARA (Tampa Area Romance Authors) sisters, who extended a warm welcome to the newcomer. But Sharon is now looking for new adventures. She hopes to sail Florida waters in the winter and travel the USA in an RV in the summer. Have computer (and yoga mat), will travel! There’s nothing like rambling to inspire ideas for fiction, so who knows where her next story will be set. Sharon loves to hear from her readers. Please visit her website at sharonshartley.com (http://www.sharonshartley.com).
This story is dedicated to all of my dorm and roommates from the University of Florida, including the “real” Joan and Debbie, two of the dearest friends ever. Such adventures we had!
I learned as much from these classy ladies as from class.
Contents
Cover (#u8c044afb-236a-5637-aecd-ec4edaa5eeae)
Back Cover Text (#u967c050d-3767-55c8-9c39-13ce0abff7ef)
Introduction (#uaf91ab3f-728d-5a4e-bade-6ac6244f4534)
Dear Reader (#u4c6405ba-6f69-5a07-8205-e072fe5c1da9)
Title Page (#u2b76da41-212c-5d97-9cd1-8c251adbcf16)
About the Author (#ud8803f98-387c-5e47-a7c4-3f29cab28095)
Dedication (#u01bd1cfe-bb97-5001-a014-29a9bd2c87d6)
CHAPTER ONE (#u9ce4b06a-aaa7-5322-857d-bca7dd45a90d)
CHAPTER TWO (#u97b3ac53-201e-5128-9b0f-c20bf0e59b32)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucaa813ab-f58f-53fa-9cb7-23cc9a5e5c21)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u13a66355-70d9-546f-9939-c607d0e19444)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u3a828d81-d5d2-5d6d-9e78-df527d2192eb)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
CAT SIDRAN CAME to a halt and admired dozens of sailboats bobbing in the water around her, one of which would be her home for the next week. The Florida sun warmed her shoulders. A stiff wind clanged rigging against tall aluminum masts, the sound a mysterious promise of adventure. She closed her eyes to listen.
An adventure was exactly what she wanted, what she needed to pry herself out of a boring rut where she never did anything but work.
Although she was safe inside her rut. And she did love her work.
A siren—an ambulance or the police—drowned out the sounds of the rigging.
“Hurry up, Cat. It’s hot out here.”
Opening her eyes, Cat glared at the back of her friend Debbie McMillan, who hurried ahead down the long concrete dock. Deb had done nothing but complain since the start of this trip. When had she become such a whiner?
“What’s the rush?” Cat asked. “We’re on vacation.”
Debbie turned, shading her sunglass-covered eyes with a brochure. “I need to get out of the sun, and so does our food.”
Joan Pastorini stepped beside Cat. “I got the extra sunscreen,” she said, holding up a plastic bag. “SPF fifty.”
“Great. Now can we find Spree?” Deb used the brochure to fan her face. “I’m melting.”
“Are you trying to depress me, Deb?” Cat asked.
Debbie shrugged. “I’m depressed enough for all three of us.”
“But you won’t be much longer,” Joan said. “We’re all going to chill and have fun for the next week.”
“So you keep telling me,” Debbie said. “But I’m not sure there’s enough tequila in all the Keys for that.”
Cat shook her head as Deb hurried down the dock. This adventure wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun if Deb’s attitude didn’t change.
“What’s the slip number for Spree again?” Deb yelled back.
“Was she always like this and I don’t remember?” Cat murmured to Joan.
“I told you she’s changed since the divorce,” Joan whispered back.
Cat watched her friend read the slip numbers. Or maybe this is why Brad left her.
“Slip twenty-eight,” Joan called, catching up to Deb.
“Here she is,” Deb said.
Cat admired the elegant lines of a white-hulled boat floating with its stern toward the dock, allowing her to confirm the name Spree in flowing black script. Two aluminum masts sprouted from the deck, the one in the rear much shorter. To provide shade, the owner had suspended a blue tarp over the opening that led below deck.
“She’s even prettier than the photos,” Joan said.
Cat silently agreed, her spirits lifting, for the first time actually believing Joan’s plan for this sailing charter might work. For the next week, she and her old college roommates planned to relax, catch up and reminisce on board this fifty-foot ketch. More importantly, she and Joan would try to coax Debbie out of the funk she’d been in since her divorce.
“Wow,” Deb said. “Look at the size of the steering wheel.”
The huge stainless-steel wheel in question stood in the center of the cockpit behind the largest mast, where people sat while under way. Cat smiled at her vision of standing behind that wheel with Spree skimming along aqua water beneath billowed white sails.
She’d always wanted to learn to sail, which is how Joan had finally convinced her to participate in this voyage.
“And damn,” Joan muttered. “Will you look at that.”
A muscled male body, glistening with sweat, emerged into the cockpit from below. An almost naked muscled male body. Ragged denim cutoffs rode low on the man’s ripped abs and hips. Very low. If they were any lower... She jerked her gaze to the man’s face.
He was tanned. Swarthy, like a pirate. High cheekbones, longish dark hair, dark eyes. Dark beard, as if he hadn’t shaved in weeks. Even a small gold hoop in one ear.
A delicious pull of attraction made her imagine something even more sensual than sailing a boat.
The man turned and stood with his back to her, staring up the mast, the rear view as spectacular as the front. Clasping his hands, he stretched his arms high overhead, rippling the muscles in his amazing shoulders, completely unaware of her ogling.
And here, likely, was Spree’s captain. Funny; she’d pictured their captain as an old salt with a British accent. She didn’t know where the accent came from, but the photo in the brochure had definitely been of such an older gentleman. Not this dangerous-looking buccaneer with a body that only came from spending a lot of time in the gym.
Not that he’d worked his muscles to where they were too obscenely bulky and huge. No question this man was strong, but also wonderfully flexible.
Flexible? Where is this coming from? Get a grip, Cat.
“Ahoy there,” Joan shouted.
Cat cringed. The man turned. Piercing dark eyes openly checked them out. He smiled, displaying perfect white teeth.
“Can I help you, ladies?”
“I hope so,” Joan said. “We’re your charterers for the next week.”
The pirate’s expression morphed into a scowl. He moved closer to them. “You’re not due until tomorrow,” he said.
“Well, I know,” Joan said, using what Cat recognized as her most wheedling tone. “But we hoped we could put our food aboard tonight.”
“You bought your own provisions? I thought you were using the concierge service.”
“We changed our minds,” Deb said. “And saved a ton of money.”
Still frowning, the man placed a hand on a metal wire connected to the deck. “I hope you used the suggested list.”
“Of course,” Joan said. “Are you the captain?”
“Yes. And according to your contract, you don’t have the boat until noon tomorrow.”
“But some of our food needs refrigeration,” Debbie said.
Mesmerized by a bead of sweat sliding down the captain’s chiseled chest toward his low-slung cutoffs, Cat forced herself to listen to the discussion.
“What would it matter if we just stored our food in the coolers overnight?” Deb asked.
“Please,” Joan added hopefully.
Appearing none too pleased, the captain hesitated, but shrugged. “Sure. How can I resist three such lovely ladies?”
“Thank you,” Cat said, and was rewarded with another smile.
The captain jumped from the deck of Spree to the dock. “I’m Javi Rivas, your captain.”
“Joan Pastorini. What happened to Captain Bree?” Joan asked.
“He had an emergency. Sorry about my appearance, but I wasn’t expecting you.” The captain shook Joan’s hand and turned to Deb.
“I’m Debbie McMillan,” she said.
“Cat Sidran.”
When the captain shook Cat’s hand, he winked, and heat warmed her cheeks. Damn. He must have noticed her drooling.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s grab a dock cart to transport your provisions.”
Telling herself to quit leering at the captain, Cat and her friends followed him down the dock toward land where he helped them transfer their grocery bags from the car into a wooden cart and wheeled the cart back to Spree, where they passed their provisions to the captain on deck. The process took three trips.
Maybe they’d bought too much food.
“Come aboard and I’ll show you where to stow your food,” the captain said with a glance at Debbie’s feet. “Tell me you brought deck shoes.”
Deb looked down at her stilettos. “They’re in my suitcase.”
“You have to put them on before you come aboard.”
“Seriously?” Deb asked.
“Didn’t you read the preboarding instructions?” Javi said.
“Don’t worry about it, Deb,” Joan said. “We’ll put away the groceries. Go wait in the shade.” To Javi, she said, “She burns easily because of her fair skin.”
“Then I hope she brought sunscreen. You, too,” Javi said to Cat, holding out his arm to help her aboard. “Redheads burn quicker than blondes.”
Landing on deck, Cat silently moaned when she couldn’t stop heat from flooding her face again. The curse of a redhead. What was she, thirteen? He helped Joan onto the boat, then said to Cat, “Come with me.”
She followed him into the cockpit, through the opening and down four steps to a cooler shaded area below deck. Wow. Spree was gorgeous, all varnished wood and neatly arranged pastel cushions.
“This is the main saloon,” Javi said.
“It’s lovely,” Cat said. Light flooded the area through an open hatch overhead and porthole windows on the side.
“I’ll give you the grand tour once your food is stowed, but this is the galley,” he said with a sweep of his arm.
“That’s the kitchen, right?” Cat asked.
“Right. This is a top-loading cooler, which runs off the ship’s generator. Freezer is one side, refrigerator on the other.” He removed a hatch that cleverly folded to cover one side or both, and then moved to the front of the boat where there was another opening to the deck.
A hatch, Cat reminded herself.
“Start passing the bags through,” he yelled up to Joan.
“Pack items you’ll use first last,” he instructed.
After the perishables, he helped Cat and Joan store dry goods into overhead cabinets. Despite being out of the April sun, they were all sweating by the time they finished.
Fanning herself, Joan plopped onto the sofa. “Is it always this hot down here?”
“There’s not much air circulation in the marina, but under way, it stays fairly cool below deck,” Javi said. “When we’re at anchor, I’ll put up wind scoops on the hatches to help ventilate below.”
“No air-conditioning?” Cat asked with a glance at Joan.
“Just the wind,” the captain said.
“Right. Let’s go find Debbie,” Joan said, avoiding Cat’s gaze.
The captain nodded, and Cat followed him into the cockpit where they discovered Debbie waiting on the dock with her luggage.
“What the hell is that?” Javi demanded.
Cat followed his gaze to Debbie’s large, hard-sided suitcase.
“What does it look like?” Deb asked.
“Something that’s not coming on this boat,” the captain said.
* * *
“DID YOU EVEN bother to read your contract?” Javi demanded. Maybe he sounded sharp, but his thigh ached. He’d been on his leg too long helping the charterers load their provisions, something definitely not in the captain’s job description, but he’d wanted to smooth over the rough start.
“The contract specifies soft-sided luggage only, preferably duffel bags,” Javi said.
“But this isn’t any bigger than Cat’s duffel,” the blonde on shore protested.
“A cloth bag can be stuffed into a small space, but not that thing,” Javi stated. “And it can’t stay out. If we hit weather, it’ll go flying and damage the boat.”
“Is there any solution?” Cat asked softly. “Maybe lash it to the deck somehow?”
Javi turned to the stunning redhead beside him on deck. She was trying to be reasonable, but he wasn’t in the mood. “For safety reasons, the less on deck, the better.”
He watched Cat exchange a look with Joan, an equally beautiful dark-haired woman. Just what he needed. Three gorgeous and spoiled women to cater to for a week. Marlin, the boat’s owner, couldn’t afford to turn down any booking, but family charters were so much easier.
“We bought a lot of large garbage bags,” Cat said. “Maybe Deb could stuff everything inside a couple and leave the suitcase ashore.”
Javi nodded. “That would work.”
“Where?” Deb asked, looking around the dock.
“I’ll ask the marina office if they can store it for a week,” Javi said. And then he realized something else. The blonde—Deb was her name—had obviously planned on putting that ridiculous suitcase on board. “Where are you ladies staying the night?” he asked. “The Marathon Motel?”
Cat and Joan exchanged another look. Deb sat on her suitcase.
“Well, since our food is already on board,” Joan said hesitantly, “we thought maybe we could stay with it.”
Did you, now? “That’s an option if you arrange it ahead of time,” Javi said, struggling to hold on to his temper. “But I didn’t see that in your contract.”
“But what would it matter?” Joan said. “We won’t be any trouble. The boat isn’t being used by anybody else.”
Javi glared at Joan. No one but me. So this was his reward for accommodating these women. If he allowed them to sleep aboard tonight, he’d have to stay with Spree. Forget about going to the gym for one last rehab session for his leg. Why had he agreed to help Marlin?
Because his friend was laid up in the hospital and would lose Spree—his home and livelihood—without the income from the already-booked charters. The old fool didn’t even have enough cash on hand to repay the deposits.
“We won’t cook in the boat,” Cat said. “We’ll go out to dinner, return our rental car and be ready to leave when you are. We couldn’t get a reservation at any motel close by.”
“Maybe we should forget the whole thing,” Debbie said, standing.
“No. Come on, Debbie,” Joan said. “Besides, we’d lose our money.”
“Couldn’t you bend the rules just this once?” Cat asked in her soft voice.
Javi shot her a look, but bit back a comment, again caught by her flawless fair skin. Damn, and her eyes were a mesmerizing green. Red hair, green eyes. Must be Irish. She flushed again under his scrutiny, something she did a lot. What’s up with that?
But the brunette was right. What did one night matter? If Marlin were here, he’d definitely give in to these three sirens.
At least they didn’t have any special requests. Marlin claimed all they wanted was a week of R & R in paradise where they didn’t have to worry about driving home after too much drinking—and from the amount of tequila they’d brought on board they intended to do plenty of that. They planned some snorkeling, paddle boarding and quiet nights anchored in protected coves.
Javi nodded at the blonde. “All right. Transfer your possessions into garbage bags and welcome aboard.”
* * *
“‘WELCOME ABOARD’?” DEBBIE MIMICKED, lifting her tequila shot off the scarred wooden table in a toast. “Captain Bligh actually said ‘Welcome aboard’ after being such a jerk.”
“He did help us with our food,” Joan said.
“Here’s to that,” Cat said, raising her own small glass. Following tradition, she licked salt off her hand, swallowed the liquor and bit into a tart lime. Her eyes watered, then the whole mess settled in her stomach and burned. She grinned at her friends, triumphant.
“Whoo-hoo, Cat!” Debbie said, whirling her arm in the air. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Anyway, we’re sleeping on board tonight,” Joan said, settling back in her hammock suspended from the high wooden ceiling. “It all worked out.”
“I didn’t think he’d agree,” Cat said. Using her foot, she pushed her own hammock into motion, relaxing into the gentle sway.
After transferring their luggage to Spree, Cat and her friends had returned their rental car and grabbed a taxi to Hattie’s Hammock, a restaurant with a popular bar on the water within walking distance of Spree’s marina. They planned to have dinner, a few drinks, and then make their way back to the boat.
“He damn sure wasn’t happy,” Deb said. “I hope he’s not like that the whole week.”
“I suspect he’ll stay as far away from us as possible,” Joan said.
“And here’s to that,” Deb said, again raising her glass and taking the third of the three shots they’d each ordered. With a flourish, she turned the glass upside down on the table beside the other two. “We need more. I’ll get our waitress.”
Worried Deb was imbibing too much tequila, Cat followed her friend’s progress to the crowded bar where she was immediately approached by a tanned, good-looking dude of around thirty. Cat sighed. Maybe now she was the one being a jerk. She wasn’t Deb’s mother. Inside her head she could hear Joanie telling her to loosen up already, that bad things didn’t always happen.
Anyway, Deb appeared to be enjoying herself—the whole point of this trip.
Deb’s new friend had brown hair, a great smile and must have had a good line, because she actually smiled back at the guy. She leaned on the bar, and they began to talk.
“Look at that.” Cat nudged Joan, who appeared to be lost in thought as she dreamily looked out over the calm water.
Refocusing on Deb and the guy at the bar, Joan said, “Now that’s a very good sign.”
“Has she said anything to you about Brad?” Cat asked.
“Just that he’s marrying the old bat this week.”
“The filthy-rich old bat,” Cat muttered.
“He apparently had to sign a prenup,” Joan said, “but still gets a ton of cash in case of divorce.”
“Yeah, well, he’s good at divorce.”
The dude at the bar bought Debbie a drink, and she perched on a stool beside him. Cat frowned, wondering if that was such a good idea. They were in a strange town and didn’t know a soul.
But maybe a little attention from an interested male was exactly the medicine her friend needed to restore her shaky confidence, which was likely why Deb was being such a pain. This was the first night of their vacation, a getaway they all three needed. They didn’t have to drive anywhere, so why not cut loose?
Hadn’t every man she’d ever dated told her she was uptight, nervous, always worried about the future, seeing disaster around every corner? Some had used less flattering descriptions. Okay. So she was a cautious person, but that was for good reason. Bad things did happen sometimes. She had firsthand proof of that.
Still, she ought to learn from Deb. Hurting from the betrayal of a husband she’d dearly loved, yet here she was bravely meeting new people.
Am I too cautious to ever have a good time? Too frightened to ever take a chance?
Well, not this trip.
Cat took a deep breath and upended her second shot. A little loopy, she was glad to see the waitress arrive with her nachos. Steam billowed into the air from the plate before her, and the tantalizing fragrance of melting cheese and spicy chilies reminded Cat she was starving.
Joan caught Debbie’s eye and motioned for her to return to their table. She did, with the barfly in tow.
As she took her seat she said, “Jeff, this is Joan and Cat, the best friends a gal ever had.”
Cat scrutinized Deb. How much more tequila had she downed at the bar?
“Will you join us, Jeff?” Joan invited, removing her purse from the empty fourth hammock at their table.
“Thanks,” Jeff said.
“Have you eaten?” Cat asked to be polite as she used her fork to detach a tortilla chip from a mound of cheese and salsa.
“You ladies go ahead,” Jeff said, placing his drink on the table. “I’m waiting for some buddies.”
“Jeff crews on a private sailboat and knows these waters well,” Deb said as she squeezed mayo on top of the lettuce and tomato on her mahimahi sandwich.
“How big is the boat?” Joan asked before taking a bite of a giant hamburger.
“Eighty feet. She’s in dry dock for a week, so I’ve got some free time.”
“He was telling me about a fabulous anchorage in the Biminis where we need to go,” Deb said. “Tell them, Jeff.”
“Yeah, I highly recommend Gun Cay if you have enough draft.”
“Draft?” Deb asked.
“How deep your keel goes down in the water,” Jeff explained. “You don’t want to run aground. The water depth in Gun Cay is about ten feet, so it’s dicey at low tide for the Ocean Watch.”
“Ocean Watch is the boat you work on?” Cat asked.
“Right. Do you know your draft?”
“Six feet,” Joan said.
“Then you’ll have no problem. There’s seldom another boat to interfere with your serenity. At least, now that the busy winter season is over.”
“I like that idea,” Cat said.
“Crowded anchorages can ruin a vacation,” Jeff said with a nod. “And with no one else around, you ladies can enjoy the sun au naturel, one of the best things about cruising.”
“I don’t know about that,” Joan said. “We have a male captain.”
“I doubt if he’d mind,” Jeff said with a laugh. “Anyway, the water is so clear in Gun Cay, you can see every detail on the bottom from the deck of Ocean Watch. There’s plenty of conch, interesting fish, great snorkeling. The interior of the island is like a jungle with tons of birds if you’re a birder, and there’s a fabulous sandy beach. You can take the dinghy ashore and have a bonfire and barbecue at night. Killer sunsets are another plus.”
“Doesn’t it sound like heaven, guys?” Deb asked.
“Is it far away?” Cat asked, surprised by Debbie’s enthusiasm, more like the old Deb she remembered from their college days. If this pristine anchorage was doable, why not?
“It’s an easy half day or so sail from here, the perfect shakedown cruise to learn about your temporary home.”
“But I thought we decided to stay in the Keys,” Joan said before biting into a French fry.
“Jeff says we won’t find a peaceful anchorage in the Keys,” Debbie said.
“Not like this one, anyway,” Jeff added. “It’s our favorite spot to drop a hook in the Bahamas.”
“It does sound awesome,” Cat said with a glance at Joan, who appeared to have doubts about the new idea.
“There are my friends now.” Jeff stood and waved his arm to catch the attention of two other men who threaded their way through the crowded bar toward him.
“What do you think about Gun Cay, Joanie?” Cat asked.
“I think our captain will object to a change in plans.” Joan eyed the two newcomers, and then grinned. “And I think we’re about to have a party.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
JAVI JERKED AWAKE at the sound of laughter drifting through the open hatch. He reached for his service weapon, senses instantly on alert.
He released the gun when he realized where he was and that a group of obviously inebriated people were making their way down Spree’s dock. Illuminating his watch in the dark, he cursed. 1:00 a.m. Damned inconsiderate of these jerks to make so much noise this late on a dock full of live-aboards, some with families.
He gazed through the hatch at stars twinkling in the dark sky. Could these drunken revelers be his charterers? He heard male voices, but maybe the ladies had hooked up and invited new lovers to spend the night on Spree.
Why not? They were on holiday.
“There she is,” a woman said with a touch of admiration. “That’s our Spree.”
“She’s got beautiful lines,” said a male voice.
“Shh!” another woman said, trying to whisper but utterly failing.
Laughter. More whispers and ineffective shushes. Javi resisted the urge to go up top and see what was going on. After several minutes of conversation and a mention of someone needing to get to bed, he heard goodbyes.
A clumsy thud sounded overhead in Spree’s cockpit, followed by giggles and more shushing. Footsteps clomped down the companionway steps as his charterers descended into the main saloon. Fortunately, he’d already closed the door to his quarter-berth cabin. They spoke in subdued tones, at least making an attempt to be quiet, although the occasional laugh broke through.
Reminding himself these women were on vacation and that he’d given them permission to stay aboard tonight, he waited for them to settle in their bunks.
As their hushed conversation continued, he caught mention of an ex-husband they all considered the devil incarnate. Javi wondered which one the ex belonged to, but doors closed, indicating they’d entered their cabins. Faint voices reached him from the master suite shared by Joan and Debbie. Irish, the redhead with the porcelain skin, had opted for the smaller cabin with bunk beds.
The ache in his thigh jerked him back to the present. He’d done what strengthening exercises he could do without a gym, and maybe he’d overdone the reps to compensate. He was seriously pissed about how long his recovery was taking. Two months in from the shooting, and he still wasn’t a hundred percent.
The worst thing wasn’t the pain. The worst thing was the boredom. But he only had four more weeks before he’d be cleared to return to active duty. Four never-ending weeks. God, he missed the job.
Although boredom wasn’t what he anticipated for the next week. Frustration from these clueless women sounded about right.
Spree rocked gently at the dock as he stared through the hatch at a dark sky full of millions of stars. That subtle motion brought back memories of the many happy years aboard Ganesh, a forty-five-foot wooden yawl, his home until college. He and his brother, Roberto, been homeschooled by his mom and dad as they cruised around the world, often hooking up with Marlin at foreign ports. It’d been a hell of an education from far more than textbooks.
Until it all came crashing down on their heads. Javi closed his mind to history that wasn’t quite ancient enough.
This charter had gotten off to a rocky start, and it was his fault because he didn’t like change. Mandatory visits to the Bureau shrink after the shooting had revealed that lovely quirk. Dr. Moonface claimed it was because he had a controlling personality. Maybe she was right. As a result of his irritation, the charterers considered him an evil troll, no doubt on a par with the evil ex.
One of the reasons he’d allowed them to sleep aboard tonight was to enable an early start. The channel in this marina was tricky at low tide, and he wanted to take advantage of the morning high tide. But considering their late night of partying, he doubted any of the ladies would be up before noon. More change.
He’d do better tomorrow, work hard to control his reactions and make them feel welcome. He was supposed to be a gracious host, not a pain in the ass. Marlin depended on repeat business.
As he drifted off, soothed by the rhythm of the boat, Javi decided to fix the women brunch for their first day. Pancakes and bacon. That ought to work. The aroma of frying bacon would rouse the dead. The contract specified they did their own cooking, but in his experience women appreciated a food offering.
* * *
JAVI WOKE TO the shrieks of seagulls greeting a boat returning to port. He heard the quiet rumble of a motor, and Spree rocked from the wake. He suspected this was the Growler, who came in from her night of fishing around 6:00 a.m. Through the overhead hatch, he watched coral-tinged clouds drift, reflecting the sunrise.
Morning had always been his favorite time of day. The world remained calm, the day ahead unknown and the temperature cool. At home, he’d be lacing up his shoes for an early run. But a return to jogging was still weeks away.
He rolled out of his bunk and pulled on khaki shorts and the light blue T-shirt with Spree’s logo he’d wear for the next week, determined to be a welcoming, proper captain today. When he entered the main saloon, as he suspected, none of his charterers were yet awake. Working quietly, he fired up the butane stove and prepared a pot of coffee.
He poured himself a cup and he set out three unbreakable coffee mugs for the women. Grabbing a towel, he hurried up the stairs. He’d take a hot shower in the facilities provided by the marina—the last good shower for a week. He’d check with the Growler, too. If she had a good night, the captain might share extra mahimahi, which would provide a fresh fish dinner for the charterers.
Javi came to a startled halt in the cockpit where he discovered the redhead fast asleep, her long hair loose and splayed out along the fiberglass bench. She wore shorts and a T-shirt that read Green Gully Orchids. He enjoyed a long look at how her shirt strained against what appeared to be perfect breasts. His gaze drifted appreciatively down her long, toned body. Nice legs, too.
Under different circumstances, no question he’d make a play to get this one in his bed.
But Irish was a charterer, which made her totally off-limits, a hard rule no charter captain dared break or risk disaster. His role for the next week had to be the friendly yet distant professional.
Besides, these women already hated him.
She lay with her knees curled to her chest, her body language indicating she was chilled, so he placed his towel over her body and went below to grab another one for his shower. He’d thought all three had gone to their bunks, but maybe she’d been too drunk to make it to her cabin last night.
On his return, when halfway up the stairs, he spotted Irish sitting up and yawning, the towel around her shoulders.
She nodded at his cup. “Is that coffee?”
“Absolutely.” Perfect opportunity to play the good captain. “How do you take it?”
She smiled sleepily. “Just a little cream, please.”
He returned and handed her a fresh mug.
“Thanks,” she said, and took a cautious sip.
“You’re welcome.” Javi sat across from her. “Something amiss with your cabin?”
“My cabin is fine. I came up to look at all the stars, and I guess I fell asleep.” She shot him a pointed look. “Was that against the rules, too?”
“Not at all. But if I’d known you were up here asleep, I’d have been quieter.”
“Oh.” Her pale cheeks flushed a delightful pink. “I’m sorry about last night. We had a little too much to drink.”
Javi mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to bring up the noisy arrival. So much for getting on better terms with my charterers.
“That happens sometimes on vacation,” he said.
She nodded, still appearing embarrassed. “Did you give me this towel?”
“You looked cold.”
“Thanks.” She broke eye contact and took another sip of coffee.
“Not a problem.” When she didn’t speak again, Javi decided Irish wasn’t the friendly type. Or maybe she wasn’t a morning person. He stood. “I’m going to grab a shower at the marina.”
“We can’t shower on board?”
“You can,” he said. “But I didn’t want to wake your friends. Plus, we have a limited fresh water supply, and none of it is hot.”
Her eyes widened. “No hot water?”
“At anchor, I can rig a sun shower and use solar heating to get some water warm. Have you ever chartered before?”
“No,” she admitted. “Joanie is the sailor.”
And apparently Joanie didn’t tell her friends the truth about life aboard a chartered sailboat, or at least this one. “When your friends wake up, I’ll give you the full orientation and a safety drill.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Cat said.
Javi couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or serious. The woman was hard to read, something he wasn’t used to, which annoyed him.
This was going to be one miserable week.
* * *
CAT RELEASED A relieved sigh when the captain jumped onto the pier and moved out of sight. The man made her nervous. He was too damned tall, too damned fit and way too gorgeous. The best strategy would be to ignore him as much as possible for the rest of the week. That’s the way she handled men who made her nervous, which was most men.
She found it so much easier to talk to her orchids. They didn’t talk back, expecting her to say something witty or intelligent.
She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift to her shade house full of phalaenopsis. She knew what to do there, how to nurture her plants into awe-inspiring blooms. Why was it so hard for her to interact with real, breathing, talking human beings? Her mother and father had built Green Gully Orchids by making friends all over the world at shows and conferences, while she preferred to hide in the background and hope no one paid her the slightest attention. Why couldn’t she be more like her parents?
Javi had a body that belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine, but he was also the captain of this boat. She couldn’t snub him all week because she was tongue-tied. She had to interact with him, especially if she wanted to learn how to sail. The brochure hadn’t mentioned the lack of running hot water, but it had most definitely promised sailing lessons.
Cat took a swallow of delicious coffee. The captain might be prickly about his precious rules, but he could brew an excellent cup of caffeine.
She was on vacation, for goodness’ sake. They hadn’t even left the dock, and she’d already started thinking about her business. How ridiculous. Joan was right. She needed to relax. She needed to forget about one bad night ten years ago.
So why not go below and crawl into her bunk? She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on deck last night, but the rock of the boat had acted like a narcotic. The tequila probably didn’t hurt, either. Joan and Debbie wouldn’t be up for hours, particularly Deb, who’d imbibed an incredible amount of liquor.
Cat sighed and took another swallow of coffee. How would her friends feel this morning? Probably not so great. And how much fun would this trip be if Deb stayed drunk the whole time?
Cat stood, intending to make her way to her cabin, when a group of pelicans flew overhead in a perfect V-formation. She watched them glide out of sight and became caught by the beauty of the early morning, how the water reflected blurred profiles of the boats and their masts similar to an impressionist painting. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, and she took a deep breath of salt-laden air.
No, she wouldn’t go back to bed. She was wide-awake. Why not grab her camera and explore the area around the marina?
She slid on her boat shoes and hurried below. The door to Deb and Joan’s cabin remained closed, so she quietly entered her own and found her camera. On her return trip, she noticed the captain had laid out cups for her friends. He’d also poured the brewed coffee into a thermos to keep it warm.
So he wasn’t a total jerk. Joan’s ploy to finagle a free night on the boat had contributed to their initial problems. Hopefully things would flow more smoothly from now on.
She stuck her tiny digital camera into the pocket of her shorts, pulled on the line to get Spree closer to the dock and hopped off the boat. She’d noticed an interesting landscaping arrangement outside the restaurant, and she was always on the hunt for new ideas for show displays.
Halfway down the dock, Cat encountered a pelican with plastic fishing line wrapped around his huge pouch. She startled the bird into an ungainly waddle, so she stopped, staring in horror at his beak.
No way could he open his mouth to fish. Which meant he—or she—couldn’t eat and would soon starve to death. The pitiful thing already looked thin and weak.
Would he let her untangle the snare? As she moved toward the bird, he hurried away from her, flapping his wings.
Cat nibbled on her bottom lip, thinking. What could she do to help? She had to do something.
She fished out her camera and snapped a photo. Yeah, that’ll help him eat.
She glanced to the end of the long dock. What she needed was assistance, someone with expertise, but it was too early for the marina store to be open. She didn’t see anyone on the deck of any of the other boats close by.
The door to the one-story building where the captain had disappeared opened, and he emerged wearing shorts with dozens of pockets and a towel draped around his bare chest. His hair was wet, slicked back from his high forehead. As he grew nearer, she noted he hadn’t shaved but had trimmed his beard. He still reminded her of a pirate.
Javi grinned at her as he approached, and she again felt that delicious tug of attraction. What was it about this guy? No question he had a killer body, but so did a lot of men. Of course, normally when she met a man, he wore a little more clothing. The captain always seemed to be in a state of partial undress.
She pointed at the pelican. “Is there anything we can do to help that guy?”
The captain’s grin faded when he saw the bird. He cursed softly.
“Could we catch it and remove the line?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
The large brown bird, seeming to know he was being discussed, turned his back on Cat and Javi.
The captain reached into one of his many pockets and removed an instrument that looked like pliers. He handed them to Cat. She looked down at the metal device, which was warm from his body heat.
“Snips,” he said in explanation. “I’m seldom without them on Spree.”
Because something is always in need of repair? Great. “Do you have a plan?”
“Stay there,” Javi said. “Don’t make any loud noise or sudden movements.”
“So you’ve done this before?” Cat asked.
“Way too often. Fishermen all over the world cut and release that damned monofilament line, never thinking about the harm it does when tangled up with sea life.” He shook his head. “The ocean can be a scary place.”
Removing the towel from his shoulders, the captain moved to the other side of the bird. The pelican nervously eyed them, but Javi took slow, steady steps, almost in slow motion.
Just as the bird lifted his wings to fly away, Javi grasped him by his bill and held the bird against his body with the towel.
“You’re okay, boy,” the captain said in a soothing voice. “You’re okay.”
The pelican squirmed, but Javi kept him under control, never removing his hand from the bill.
“I didn’t see a hook,” he said. “Can you see one?”
Cat studied how the line looped around the bird’s bill. “No. I think he’s just all tangled up.”
“Good. Or else we’d have to call the rescue station.”
“Can he breathe with you holding him like that?” she asked.
“I’m not holding him that tightly. Are you the nervous type?”
“What?” Cat looked at Javi rather than the bird. Actually, she was. Was it that obvious?
“I need you to cut the line while I’ve got him restrained. Can you do that? Like maybe now.”
Cat took a deep breath, her gaze back on the struggling animal. “As long as you hold him so he doesn’t bite me.”
“Trust me. I’ve got him.”
Trust him? Not in a million years, but she stepped closer, searching where to make the first snip. Years of repotting had taught her how to use cutting tools and that she had to choose wisely. Once cuts were made, there were no do-overs.
But orchid plants didn’t squirm and glare at her with huge, terrified eyes.
“Careful not to poke the bird,” Javi said.
“Yeah, I get that,” Cat said. “The line is dug in deep in some places.”
“I can’t hold him all day.”
Her decision made, Cat made two quick snips, and most of the line fell away. The pelican eyed her with wild-eyed suspicion as she snipped two more times. As she gently plucked away the remaining line, the bird thrashed harder in Javi’s arms.
With the bill now free, the captain released the bird, who flapped away with an outraged guttural squawk.
“You’re welcome,” Javi yelled at the fleeing pelican.
“Will he be okay?” Cat asked.
Javi shrugged. “Should be. I don’t think he was hung up too long.” He looked down at himself, brushed dirt—or maybe poop—and a brown feather from his stomach and made a face. “I guess I need another shower.”
“Sorry,” Cat said, her focus on the captain’s tight abs, which no question were filthy from his contact with the bird. Lucky bird.
“Thanks for helping,” she said.
The captain executed a crisp salute. “At least someone is grateful. See you on Spree.”
Cat watched him move back toward the shower, but he turned and said, “Good job, Irish. You saved that bird’s life.”
Her face grew warm with pleasure. She knew her cheeks were beet red, but she didn’t care. Praise was something she seldom heard, and it felt good even if the appreciation came from a sail-bum pirate.
A totally hot sail-bum pirate.
Humming to herself, she reversed course and returned to Spree. She needed to celebrate with another cup of the captain’s coffee. Plus, saving Parky the Pelican had worked up an appetite. She’d whip up some breakfast and see if that woke up her friends.
She was on vacation. She wanted to go sailing.
* * *
WHEN JAVI RETURNED to Spree, he carried a large fileted mahimahi donated by the crew of Growler that would make an excellent dinner tonight for his charterers. As he pulled on the dock line, he sniffed the enticing aroma of bacon and suspected Irish had beaten him to the task of making breakfast. Maybe helping with the injured bird had earned him a few points.
Once on deck he heard voices, so at least one of the other women was awake. Good. The tide had already begun to change, and he wanted to be out of the channel before dead low tide at noon.
Reminding himself to behave like a professional boat captain, he descended into the main cabin and found all three women at the table. In the center was an open bottle of champagne, a container of orange juice and three of Spree’s plastic wine flutes filled with mimosas.
His gaze went immediately to Irish, who nibbled on her lower lip, looking worried. When their eyes met, a faint flush stained her cheeks and she smiled. The brunette, Joan—he needed to remember their names—sat across from her, staring at the blonde, Debbie, slumped against the seat next to Irish. The plate of eggs in front of Debbie had barely been touched. The other two plates were empty.
“Good morning, ladies,” Javi said, forcing a smile. Morning mimosas weren’t so unusual. And it wasn’t his job to judge how much liquor his charterers drank. Or how early they started.
Debbie raised her mimosa in greeting. “Hail the return of the conquering hero.”
“I told them about the injured pelican,” Irish said quickly. With a glare at Deb, Irish held up a camera. “I showed them a photo I took of the poor guy before you untangled him.”
“That was nice of you,” Joan said. “Thanks.”
“Irish helped,” Javi said. “Definitely a two-person job.”
“Irish?” Joan asked. “Who’s Irish?”
Javi nodded at Cat. “Don’t you think the lassie looks like she’s from the Emerald Isle?” he asked, faking an Irish brogue. He tried to catch her eye and wink, but she looked down, fussing with her camera.
“What’s that?” Debbie said, sniffing the air. She pointed at the wrapped package.
“Fresh fish for dinner.” Javi stashed the mahimahi in the cooler. “I’ll grill it when we’re at anchor tonight.”
“Oh, please don’t mention food,” Debbie said with a groan. “Cat tried to make me puke with her bacon and eggs at the crack of dawn.”
“Are you sick?” Javi asked.
“Nothing that a little hair of the dog won’t cure.” Debbie downed the rest of the pale yellow liquid in her glass, and poured more champagne from the bottle.
“We’ve got aspirin on board if you need it,” Javi offered.
“I’m fine,” Debbie said, settling back against the seat with her flute.
“Would you like some champagne?” Joan asked.
“No thanks,” Javi said.
“There’s plenty of food left if you’d like something to eat,” Irish said, indicating a covered skillet on the stove.
“Thanks,” Javi said. “That would be great.”
He scooped scrambled eggs, a couple of slices of bacon and a piece of cold toast onto a plastic plate, then leaned against the counter to eat, watching the women, who fell silent with furtive glances at each other.
Something was definitely going on with the three of them. They’d been in a heated discussion, but immediately clammed up when he’d entered the galley. Maybe the other two were concerned about the blonde’s drinking and didn’t want him to know. The glasses in front of Joan and Cat were still half-full.
Not his problem.
When finished with breakfast, Javi cleaned his plate and put it back in the cupboard. The contract stipulated the charterers keep the galley clean. Should he say something or wait and see what happened? He’d wait. These were grown women, and he wasn’t their father.
“Are you ladies ready to go sailing?” he asked.
“Yes,” Irish and Joan said simultaneously.
Debbie shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Javi nodded. “Good. I want to get started while the tide is still high. Let me go over a few safety procedures first.”
“We have a request,” Debbie said.
Something in the blonde’s tone lit up Javi’s radar. Sensing trouble, he said, “We aim to please. What’s up?”
“We want to go to Bimini.”
“Bimini?” Javi repeated, emphasizing each syllable.
Gazing expectantly at him, all three women nodded in agreement.
Of all the things he’d feared, he never expected a request for a trip to the Bahamas. Doable, of course, but not on a charter with two novices.
“Bad idea,” Javi said. “Bimini is a fifteen-hour sail.”
“We heard about a great anchorage called Gun Cay,” Irish said. “Do you know it?”
“Yes,” Javi said. “Where did you hear about Gun Cay?”
“Some guys we met last night,” Joan said. “They raved about how beautiful and serene it is.”
“Is it as wonderful as they said?” Cat asked.
Javi nodded. “Definitely a primo anchorage, but you’ll use up a lot of your time on the boat getting there and back instead of relaxing. Is that what you want?”
“Sounds perfect,” Debbie said. “Cat wants to learn to sail. She and Joan can help you while I lay out on deck and drink.”
Javi smiled at Debbie. You just think that’s what will happen. “It will be an uncomfortable passage. The wind is out of the north, the leading edge of a front, so it’ll kick up the Gulf Stream and we’ll have to beat the whole trip.” He looked to Joan for confirmation.
“Beat?” Cat asked.
“Sail into the wind,” Javi answered. “Because of that, we’ll be heeled over, and it’ll get rough in the ’Stream.”
“Heeled over?” Joan asked.
Javi stared at her. “I thought you were the sailor.”
“Hobie Cats,” Joan said. “Sailing a Hobie is such a rush.”
“No question,” Javi agreed.
So Joan sailed a small, two-hulled catamaran built for speed, fun and short day sails with no cabin. She knew the basics of sailing, but had no clue about life on a monohulled charter boat.
Great. Make that three novices.
“You know how Hobies sail up on one pontoon?” Javi asked.
Joan nodded. “That’s when it’s really exciting. It’s like you’re flying.”
“Same idea. Imagine we’re under sail and this cabin is tipped over at a thirty-degree angle.” Javi demonstrated by holding his hand level, then slanting it one side. “The heeling is because of the action of the wind on the sails.”
“But we won’t flip over?” Irish asked.
“No. There’s a several ton keel below the hull that acts as a counterbalance, but it’s hard to move around without falling, much less use the head—the bathroom. Plus, Bimini is in a foreign country, so we need to clear customs. That means we have to wait to leave so we arrive during daylight. You’ll lose today.”
“Fine by me,” Debbie said. “I can go back to bed. Joan and Cat can go shopping.”
Irish nibbled on her bottom lip, looking doubtful.
“Or we could go out for a sail this afternoon,” Joan said. “You know, like a shakedown cruise.”
“Do you have your passports?” Javi asked.
“We brought them just in case,” Debbie said.
Of course you did. Javi scowled. He’d hoped a lack of passports would end the discussion. “There’s also an arrival fee that you’ll have to cover.”
“The guys mentioned that last night,” Joan said. “We’ll pay it.”
“And remember we’ll be sailing for fifteen hours, most of the time in the dark.”
Debbie lifted her chin. “Sounds like fun.”
Javi knew that tone of voice. Stubborn. She wanted to go, and no amount of common sense persuasion would talk her out of it.
“The sail over might not be such fun,” he said, nodding at Irish, who seemed the most cautious of the three.
She glanced at Debbie, and then back to him. “Is it safe? I mean, we wouldn’t be in any danger of getting lost at sea, would we?”
“I can’t make any guarantees,” Javi said, needing to talk these three sirens out of this idea. “Something could always go wrong—equipment failure, unexpected weather. That’s in the contract that you signed. And there’s always the possibility of getting sick in rough seas.” Or make that the likelihood.
“I never get seasick,” Joan proclaimed. “And something could break even if we stay in the Keys.”
“Repairs are easy when we’re close to land.”
“Is there something wrong with the boat?” Debbie demanded.
“Not at all,” Javi said. “Spree is totally sound.”
“Aren’t the Bahamas an option on the website?” Joan asked.
“Yes,” Javi admitted.
“Have you made the sail before?” Irish asked.
“I think our hero is afraid of making the trip,” Debbie said before he could answer.
Javi sighed. “What I’m afraid of is it won’t be an enjoyable vacation. I’ve crossed the ’Stream against a norther many times, and can handle the sail.” Single-handed if necessary, which it practically will be.
“Experienced cruisers usually wait for the wind to shift to make the crossing. You don’t have that kind of time.”
“I still say it sounds like fun,” Debbie said. “And I need some fun.”
“Are you sure?” Irish asked.
“Come on, guys,” Debbie said. “You bullied me into this holiday to cheer me up, to do something different.” She raised her flute into the air. “So let’s do something different.”
“What do you say, Joan?” Irish asked.
Joan shrugged. “If it’s as thrilling as flying a Hobie, I say we definitely go for it.”
“I can’t talk you out of it?” Javi asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Irish said.
Javi nodded, knowing he’d lost the battle, that he hadn’t painted an ugly enough picture of what they’d be up against.
He could refuse to take them, but that would make the coming week more than miserable for all four of them, plus result in a bad review online. And Marlin did list the Bahamas as an option in his charter brochure. They were within their rights to ask for Gun Cay even if he thought it was a horrible idea.
And maybe he secretly wanted to make the sail, which would be exciting, a definite challenge to sail against the wind in Spree while pushed by the Gulf Stream. He’d been bored since the FBI placed him on medical leave and needed a distraction. Wasn’t that one reason he’d agreed to help Marlin?
“I need to file a new float plan with the marina,” Javi said. “While I’m gone, stow everything that’s out so it can’t bang around the cabin when we leave the dock.”
“Um, you mentioned the possibility of some aspirin?” Debbie said.
Smothering a grin, Javi pointed. “In the first aid kit under the nav station. Remember, put everything back in its place. You ladies also might want to grab a hot shower at the marina.”
“I already took a shower,” Debbie said. “A cold one.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, Javi said, “Then I’ll need to top off the water tanks again. When I get back, we’ll check off a few safety issues and go for a sailing lesson.”
He heard someone mutter, “Captain Bligh,” as he climbed the companionway.
Javi shook his head. If his charterers disliked him now, they’d hate him in twelve hours.
CHAPTER THREE (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
STANDING ON THE bow of Spree, Cat waited for instructions from the captain. The fiberglass beneath her feet rumbled with the vibration of Spree’s engine. The smell of diesel fuel floated on the steady north wind, which tossed her ponytail, tickling her neck.
It was almost 5:00 p.m. and they were finally beginning their journey.
Her job was to release the dock line and throw it onto the dock. Joan stood on the back of the boat ready to cast off the stern line.
Debbie, hungover and tipsy from a second bottle of champagne, sat in the cockpit. Her task was to stay out of everyone’s way. During the safety instructions, she’d complained about queasiness, so the captain sent her up on deck for fresh air. Instead, she went to her cabin and fell asleep. Joan didn’t have the heart to wake her, so they never went out for that sailing lesson.
Cat refused to let Debbie’s resentment of the entire known world spoil her excitement. She was about to embark on an adventure, something that even sounded a little daunting. Who’d have thought that she, Cattleya Sidran, the biggest coward in the known world, would actually look forward to something scary? For sure her mom and dad wouldn’t believe it.
“Release the stern line,” Javi yelled to Joan.
When Javi instructed her to release the bow line, Cat heaved the rope onto the dock. He gave Spree some fuel, motored out of their slip toward the channel that led out of the marina.
“That noisy motor isn’t helping my headache,” Deb muttered when Cat scrambled back to the cockpit and sat beside her.
Cat shrugged. She didn’t much like the motor, either, but they couldn’t raise the sails until they were out in the ocean and had room to maneuver.
His jaw set, the captain alternated his focus between the water ahead and a depth finder mounted on the cockpit. Spree had to stay dead in the center of the channel that led out of the marina. The instrument “pinged” every so often, indicating they were close to running out of water beneath the keel—running aground, Javi called it, quite obviously not a good thing.
He was fully dressed now, wearing khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt and matching visor. Polarized sunglasses covered his dark eyes, but the shirt couldn’t hide the biceps in the arms that gripped the wheel. The earring glinted in the setting sun, again reminding her of a pirate.
But he wasn’t a pirate. Just a sail bum she found mysteriously attractive.
The depth finder pinged several times. Javi cursed, then muttered, “Pardon me, ladies.”
“Have you ever run aground?” Cat asked.
He grinned. “More times than I care to remember.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Debbie said, one hand holding a huge straw hat in place on her head.
Joan caught Cat’s eye and shook her head. Even Joanie was running out of patience with Debbie’s negativity.
Other marinas and businesses concerned with boating interests streamed by Spree on the right—or starboard, Javi said it was called at sea. On the left, or port, was a natural area full of mangroves, their long spidery trunks covered with roosting pelicans and a nasty odor. The narrow channel widened into a harbor, and Spree passed a large group of sailboats, their bows all pointed the same direction.
“Are those boats anchored?” Joan asked.
“They’ve picked up a mooring, which is more permanent, but there’s a fee,” Javi said. “Dropping an anchor is free.”
The wind steadily increased the farther they got from the marina. The commercial area gradually turned residential and some amazing homes appeared.
Javi nodded at Deb. “We’re about to clear the shelter of land. Trust me, you’re going to lose that hat.”
Debbie removed her hat and tossed it through the opening into the cabin below.
When they got offshore, the wind plastered Cat’s T-shirt against her body. The stiff breeze also chopped up the ocean, causing Spree to wallow through the waves.
Cat glanced at Deb, but she didn’t complain about the rough ride.
“Ready for your first lesson, Cat?” Javi asked.
She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”
“Take the wheel.”
When Cat placed her hands on the smooth metal, it was warm, either from Javi’s body heat or the sun, and she felt the rumble of the engine in her fingers. He stayed behind her, his tanned arms around her and his hands also on the wheel. She took a deep breath, got a whiff of his spicy aftershave and forced herself to concentrate on the captain’s instructions.
“Turn the wheel to starboard, like you’re driving a car, and get the feel of how the helm reacts,” he said.
“Easy enough,” Cat said, and within a few minutes got the hang of how the boat maneuvered. Not hard at all.
Then Javi stepped away, leaving her to steer alone. After a brief moment of panic, she enjoyed the sensation of being in command of the sleek boat. It was like driving a car. Sort of. She swallowed and stared at the whitecaps in the ocean.
Joan gave her a thumbs-up.
“You’re doing great, Cat,” Debbie said.
“You okay?” Javi asked.
“I’m fine,” Cat said.
“So are you ladies ready to go sailing?” Javi asked.
“Definitely,” Joan said.
“Anything to stop that noise,” Debbie said.
“I’m going to raise the mainsail,” Javi said, and moved the engine lever to Neutral. “Cat, steer the boat to port and put the bow directly into the wind.”
“How do I know when I’m directly into the wind?” Cat asked.
“See these ribbons?” Javi flicked a ribbon attached to a wire supporting the mast. “These are called telltales. When they’re streaming directly to stern, you’re in the eye of the wind.”
“Got it.”
She turned the wheel to the left until the telltales flowed toward the back of the boat where the dinghy hung off davits. Javi went forward on the deck, did some magic with lines, and a huge white sail rose on the mast, flapping so loudly she could barely hear the engine.
“Now slowly fall off the wind,” Javi yelled.
Cat steered to the right. The wind caught the sail, which billowed and quieted. Javi returned to the cockpit and pulled the huge metal pole attached to the bottom of the sail—the boom, she remembered—toward the center.
The sail grew taut, and Spree darted forward like a racehorse released from the starting gate. She felt a tug on the wheel and overcorrected, which made the sail snap crazily again, so she turned the wheel until the sail became taut again.
Javi grinned at her and shut down the engine. The vibrations abruptly ceased. Without the engine noise, the only sounds were the rush of wind on the sail and the ocean flowing over Spree’s hull. She hadn’t realized how intrusive the sound of the diesel engine had been until the natural sounds took over, a huge relief to her ears.
But with the wind pushing on the huge mainsail, Spree definitely tipped to that side, what the captain called heeling. She spread her legs for better balance.
Javi pointed to a compass, which floated inside some kind of liquid, beneath the wheel.
“Try to hold a course of thirty degrees,” he told her. “A couple of degrees either way won’t matter. We’re a long way from Gun Cay.”
As Cat gazed at the compass, trying to focus on the number thirty—northeast—the sail began flapping again.
“That noise—it’s called luffing—will be one indication that you’re off course,” Javi told her. “You can also tell by the action of the ocean on your rudder. You’ll feel a difference in the wheel.”
Cat nodded, too engrossed in sailing to reply. Watching the telltales, she played with Spree’s direction, turning the wheel, figuring out how best to remain on course. The boat responded quickly, so the trick was to make gradual adjustments. Oversteering made the sail luff every time. She relaxed her grip, aware she clutched so tightly her fingers ached.
“You learn fast,” Javi said.
“Thanks. This is fun,” Cat said, thankful the captain remained at her side. She looked behind her. Key Marathon had receded in the distance, becoming smaller and smaller on the horizon. Facing forward again, she watched the bow cut through the waves, occasionally sending a cool spray back to the cockpit. She laughed in sheer delight.
This must be what it feels like to fly.
“I’m going to release the jib,” Javi said. “It’ll change the feel of the helm, so don’t let that throw you.”
Another white sail, hidden inside a blue cover, unfurled from the bow of the boat. When it caught the wind, Spree surged forward even faster. Cat intuitively made the adjustments. And now the whole deck really did tip to the right, although the sensation wasn’t too horrible. Just a little awkward.
No one spoke for what seemed like a long while as they skimmed across the water. Deb said, “You know this is really nice, guys. Thanks for making me come.”
“Told you,” Joan said.
Debbie shot her a bird, and everyone laughed.
“Do you want to take a turn at the wheel?” Cat asked.
Debbie shook her head. She placed a white boat cushion behind her, leaned against the back of the cockpit and extended her legs out on the white fiberglass. “No thanks. I’m good.”
“Joan?” Cat asked.
Already in a position similar to Deb’s, Joan waved a hand. “I’ve got all week.”
Secretly pleased, Cat returned her attention to steering the boat. Of course, there was no way she could stand behind this wheel for the fifteen hours it would take to sail to Gun Cay.
She experienced a moment of terror when Javi left her side and trotted forward on the deck to fiddle with lines on the mast. What if he fell out? Or what if one of her friends did? By now they were miles from land.
During the safety briefing, he’d cautioned them about the boom and jibing—where the boom swung around, potentially knocking people overboard. She stood safely behind the boom and suspected that was one reason Joan and Debbie stayed low. He’d instructed them on how to use the radio for emergencies, so they could call the coast guard if the captain went for an unplanned swim.
He’d also showed them where the life jackets were stowed and made them promise to wear them if things got rough. She nibbled on her lower lip. Actually, he’d said when things got rough.
Right now he was so far forward the boom couldn’t smack him. But footing was precarious, and the seas were getting choppier. The captain couldn’t fall over, could he?
“What’s he doing? Debbie asked.
“I don’t know,” Cat answered.
The sail luffed, and Javi glanced in her direction with a frown. She quickly made a course correction.
Cat released a breath when Javi returned to the cockpit.
“You need a break,” he said.
She stepped away from the wheel, stretching her arms overhead, her shoulders tight from holding the boat on course for over an hour.
“Unless one of you ladies wants a turn?” Javi called out.
“I’m too relaxed,” Joan said. “Maybe later.”
Debbie shook her head, placing her palm flat against her stomach.
“I think your friend is a little seasick,” Javi told Cat.
“Too much bubbly,” Cat said.
“You’ll feel better if you take command of the boat,” Javi yelled to Debbie. “That helps.”
She grimaced. “No thanks.”
Javi shrugged and refocused on the sails.
“What were you doing up there?” Cat asked.
“Double-checking a repair I made. Don’t worry. We’re safe.”
“It’s gotten rough,” she said.
“It’ll get worse.”
A tingle of alarm sliced down her spine at his ominous tone. How rough?
“I was thinking,” she said. “What if one of us falls into the water?”
Javi focused on far distant land to their left and nodded. “You’re right, Irish. It’s time to put on our life jackets.”
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, with the jib refurled and the main reefed, Javi stood behind the wheel and evaluated the status of his vessel. It was full-on dark, the moon not yet up. The bow rose as it crested a trough, and then crashed back into the Gulf Stream, making him release a pleased laugh. Nothing like pitching a man and a well-designed boat against the elements to make that man feel alive. Almost as good as catching criminals.
On a thirty-degree heel, Spree raced toward Bimini like a champion thoroughbred. He could put up more sail, but why take a chance? NOAA weather predicted a storm behind this north wind, although they’d be safely across before it hit. Still, no sense in beating the hell out of his boat with novices on board. With the two-to three-knot push from the Gulf Stream, they’d make good time to Gun Cay even without the jib.
If they continued on to Gun Cay.
Satisfied that Spree was operating perfectly, Javi turned his focus to the condition of his charterers. Matters weren’t so rosy on that front.
Debbie had been violently ill over the side of the boat even before they hit the worst of the conditions. Definitely too much “bubbly.” Joan, the purported sailor, held out a little longer, but had insisted on going below to pee and as a result had also puked her guts out.
Wearing their bulky life jackets, the two of them lay curled up in misery on opposite sides of the cockpit. Debbie, on the low side, had the best of it. Joan, on the high side, clutched a winch to keep from rolling into the floor.
Irish, because she took his advice and kept control of the helm most of the time, had so far remained upright. She’d even managed to go below to relieve herself without getting sick. Since he’d taken control, she’d developed a worried crease between her green eyes, and he suspected she’d gotten a little queasy herself. But she needed a break, and he wanted to get the feel of the helm in these conditions.
No worries there. Spree was going to be fine.
So would the women once they got back on dry land.
Maybe it was time to offer to take them back to the Keys. Their decision. He bet he knew what they were going to want.
“You want to take over?” he asked Irish, who sat beside Joan, eyeing her with sympathy.
Cat jumped up. “Yes. For some reason I feel better when I have the wheel.”
“That’s the way it always works. The wind is strong and the rudder will fight you, but you can manage.”
Irish squeezed in front of him, placed her hands on the wheel and spread her legs wide. Nothing about her motions should be sexy, but damned if they weren’t, even in a life jacket. And the woman felt good pressed against him.
Inappropriate, Rivas. Javi stepped away, giving her the helm. “You got it?”
She nodded, a small smile playing with her lips, which intrigued him. Irish was one of those natural sailors who just “got” how to handle a boat. It would be fun to race against her when she got a little more experience.
“Do you think your friends would like to go back to the Keys?” he asked.
She glanced at him in surprise, but quickly refocused on the main, her gaze worriedly assessing the telltales flowing over the sail.
Good girl. She really does learn fast.
“Is that an option?” she asked.
“Totally up to the three of you, but I don’t think Joan or Debbie are having much fun right now.”
She bit her bottom lip, he suspected to stifle a laugh.
“Maybe not,” she agreed.
While Irish concentrated on getting the feel of the boat, and probably thinking about a return to Florida, Javi took the opportunity to check her out. She wore shorts and T-shirt. Before she’d put on the life preserver, he’d tried, without success, not to notice how her shirt strained against her generous breasts. The wind had pulled much of her long auburn hair loose from the ponytail, and she constantly tucked a stray lock behind an ear.
“Ask them,” she said.
“What?”
She shot him a quick look, and a slight smile told him she’d caught him eyeing her. No harm in looking.
“Ask them if they want to go back,” she said.
“Do you?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Not really, but this vacation was all about Debbie. We wanted to cheer her up.”
“Is she the recent divorcée?”
“Yes.”
“I figured.”
Irish’s cheeks, already flushed from the wind, reddened. “You heard us, huh?”
“Hard not to.”
“So,” Cat said, “I’ll do whatever Deb wants.”
Javi turned to ask the question, and found Debbie sitting up.
“I have to pee,” she said.
“I don’t recommend going below,” Javi said. “Remember what happened to Joan. You’ll really feel the motion of the ocean down there.”
“Sorry,” Deb said. “No choice.”
“Wait. Do you want to turn around?” Javi asked.
“What?” Deb halted her awkward progress toward the companionway. “You mean, go back to Marathon?”
“Only if you want to,” Irish said.
“But aren’t we closer to Bimini than Florida by now?”
“No,” Javi said. “Not really.”
He watched Debbie raise her chin, a surprisingly stubborn look in her eyes. Still, he was surprised when she shook her head.
“I’m not giving up.”
“We wouldn’t be giving up, Debbie,” Irish said. “We’re getting you back to dry land where you won’t be sick.”
“No,” Debbie insisted. “I want to go to Gun Cay.”
“You’re sure?” Irish asked.
“Yeah.”
When Debbie descended into the cabin below, Javi said, “We won’t see her again until we arrive at shore.”
Irish shrugged. “Part of the trouble between her and Brad was he said she was a quitter.”
“Doesn’t appear that way to me,” Javi said.
“So we keep going?” Irish asked.
Javi glanced to Joan, who had also sat up. “Unless you and Joan want to outvote her.”
Joan looked to port, but there was no longer any land visible. She sighed in a way that told Javi she’d go back in a flash. “Like Debbie said.”
“Your decision,” Javi said, his opinion of the women rising. They certainly weren’t wimps. “On to Gun Cay.”
Joan came to her feet. “I’m miserable no matter where I am, so I’m going to my soft bed.”
When Joan disappeared, Javi said, “I hope they don’t puke all over the cabin.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
AT THE WHEEL of Spree, Cat scanned the horizon, searching for the marker that signaled the entrance to the channel into Alice Town. According to Javi, they should be approaching North Bimini, the best place for them to clear customs.
Hidden by the sail, Javi was on the foredeck, probably relieving himself over the side of Spree, which was easier than having to go below. For sure men had it easier in the plumbing department. The wind remained steady, but the sea had grown calmer since they’d left the Gulf Stream, allowing Spree to easily slice through the water. With only the shortened mainsail up, the boat sailed almost level.
She ought to be exhausted from the punishing trip, and yeah, physically, her body was drained. Muscles she hadn’t known existed were sore, yet her brain remained alert and active. She couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this alive, this...free. And victorious, like she’d bested an ancient foe.
Perhaps that’s what the sea was. Isn’t that why men had gone to sea since time began, for the challenge the oceans presented?
Maybe she was more tired than she realized.
She didn’t want to think about what she looked like. She knew her clothes were wrinkled and filthy. She hadn’t combed her hair or bathed since yesterday morning, much less brushed her teeth. But for some reason her appearance didn’t matter. Maybe because the captain looked equally in disarray. On him, though, it was sexy.
She was hungry, though. Around 1:00 a.m. Javi had left her at the helm to heat up a can of tomato soup, which had tasted better than any meal she’d eaten in years. Although her real pleasure came from the fact that the captain had trusted her while he went below to fire up the stove. He’d also made coffee and poured it into a thermos, and they’d sipped all night to stay awake.
She’d gotten used to the shroud of darkness around them. Other than their mandatory running lights—one red and one green on either side of the bow—the only illumination had come from millions of stars and a half-moon, which cast a magical never-ending beam onto the water.
They hadn’t talked much. Mainly the occasional comment about the action of the boat, the mystery of the ocean or the occasional passing ship. They were far too busy keeping their boat on course, each taking their turn steering while the other took a quick power nap on deck.
She’d never experienced anything quite like the sunrise, watching a fiery orb ascend from the abyss to brighten the sky, revealing a gray sea that slowly morphed into an aqua miracle surrounding them. The crossing had been an almost mystical experience for her, alone in the dark with the captain, battling the elements—and it had definitely been a battle. She felt oddly close to him, although she didn’t know him at all.
Why did she feel she’d come to know him on some basic human level?
Yeah, she was definitely tired.
Javi returned from the deck and grabbed the binoculars out of a cubbyhole in the cockpit. Focusing on the sea ahead, he nodded.
“We’re there.”
“You see the marker?” she asked.
“Right where it should be.”
He started the engine. Its grating rumble told her the journey was at an end. Would the noise rouse Joan and Debbie? Doubtful. As Javi predicted, her friends hadn’t reappeared since going below. Cat hoped they’d feel better when they got to dry land.
“Head into the wind,” he instructed. “I’m going to drop the main.”
While she motored up a clearly marked channel, mangroves passing on either side, the captain lashed the sail to the boom and stowed it inside a cover. Next he raised a yellow flag with a Q on it.
“What’s that?” she asked when he’d returned to the cockpit.
“Quarantine flag. We have to fly that until we’re cleared.”
The captain took the wheel and steered them into a crowded harbor full of moored boats of all sizes. Marinas full of megayachts from all over the world lined the shores. Rigging clanged against masts. A strange-sounding siren wailed in the distance. When a giant motor yacht passed them in the channel, its wake rocked the boat so hard Cat was forced to sit down.
North Bimini reminded her of the chaos of the busy World Orchid Conference on opening day.
“So much for a quiet anchorage,” Cat said.
“Yeah, this place has really changed since they built the resort,” Javi said. “It’s expensive to dock these days, but I have a buddy who’ll let us tie up for the time it’ll take to get clearance.”
“How long will that be?”
“You never know.”
He steered Spree into a dock with four or five fuel pumps. After they’d secured the boat, the captain hurried away with a stack of papers they’d worked on last night to present to Bahamas Customs, including their passports and a Maritime Declaration of Health.
She hoped seasickness wouldn’t count against the occupants of Spree.
When Javi disappeared inside the fuel dock’s office, Cat went below to check on Joan and Debbie. They couldn’t leave the boat until the captain returned with official permission. She creaked open the door to her friends’ cabin, and an unpleasant odor washed over her. She hoped they hadn’t been sick in the room, which understandably wasn’t nearly as neat as when they’d departed.
Neither of her friends reacted to her appearance. Lying on her side, Debbie snored loudly, probably thanks to a bottle of sleeping pills on the table next to the bed. On her back, Joan didn’t stir. Likely she’d been able to keep a sedative down, as well. Probably for the best.
Cat considered waking them, but decided to wait until the captain returned with permission to go ashore.
After tidying up the galley—a task impossible in the dark while sailing—she took a quick shower, which wasn’t as cold as she’d feared, and changed into clean clothes. Refreshed but hungry, she prepared a bowl of cereal and went on deck to eat and watch the world sail by. Another siren howled in the distance.
She was comfortable alone—the way she spent most of her time—but hadn’t expected this vacation with two old friends to be so solitary.
* * *
TWO AND A half hours later, with Bahamian clearance in hand, Javi returned to Spree. His time with customs took longer than it should have, but Sunday morning was the worst possible time for quick service. Plus, his bad luck, there’d been a robbery of high-grade pharmaceuticals last night in Nassau, which had put the Royal Bahamas Defence Force on high alert.
Intrigued, he’d tried to learn details, but the authorities weren’t cooperative other than telling him two cops had taken fire.
Not his problem, anyway. He was on a sail charter, and his FBI badge gave him no jurisdiction in the Bahamas. He’d declared his service weapon, which caused additional complications, more time. The authorities had reluctantly allowed him to retain it, but weren’t happy.
As he hurried down the concrete dock toward the boat, he spotted Irish in the cockpit under a huge straw hat wearing white sunglasses. She had a book on her lap, and raised her head when a Jet Ski raced by rocking Spree. Since he’d been gone so long, he thought she might fall asleep, and couldn’t decide whether it was better or worse that she was awake.
If asleep, she couldn’t put up any arguments.
Much to his surprise, she’d been great last night, and he’d enjoyed working with her. It’d been a hell of an exciting sail, reminding him how much he loved Mother Ocean. He’d bet his shield Irish had enjoyed parts of the crossing, too. Not so much her friends. Once they got out of this busy port, maybe the week would flow more smoothly.
Although who knew how charterers would react when things didn’t go their way.
“Javi.”
He halted when his friend Heathbow Smith hailed him.
“I need that space,” Heathbow said. “Sun’s getting high. Customers need my dock to buy fuel.” Sweat dripped off the Bahamian’s face. “I hope you’re planning to leave soon.”
“Soon as I top off the tank, Heath.”
Heathbow grinned, revealing a gold tooth. “Good.”
“Do you know anything about what happened in Nassau?” Javi asked. If anyone knew details it would be Heath. He’d retired from the defense force, and his brother remained on active duty.
Heathbow’s smile disappeared. “Bad business. Two cops shot, one DOA.”
Javi cursed. No wonder customs had been jumpy. A cop killed in the line of duty was an unusual event in the Bahamas.
“Perps stole a boat. They halfway to Jamaica by now,” Heath continued. “Bad weather coming, though. Tough luck for them.”
“Right. Hey, thanks, buddy. I owe you,” Javi told him, shaking his hand.
“That you do.” Heath’s grin reappeared. “I’ll collect another time.”
Irish looked up with a smile when he tugged on Spree’s dock line. She’d evidently showered and changed clothes, now appearing fresh and relaxed. Good for her. He felt grubby and anything but relaxed. He’d traded on his long-standing friendship with Heathbow too long. No telling how many sales the man had missed with Spree blocking one of his fuel pumps.
“All set?” Irish asked as she rose.
He handed her the clearance papers. “I hope your friends didn’t go ashore,” Javi said.
“They’re asleep in their cabin,” she said with a cursory glance at the paperwork. “I’ll wake them now that you’re back.”
“Don’t. We have to gas up and get out of here pronto.”
Her smiled faded. “What? We can’t stay for a while?”
“No. This is a fuel dock.”
“But I’m sure Joan and Debbie will want to check out this charming town.”
Charming? Unlocking the fuel tank, Javi said, “I thought you wanted a deserted anchorage.”
“True.” She hesitated. “But isn’t dry land the best cure for seasickness?”
“Usually.” Javi paused, trying to ascertain her mood. She appeared worried, or maybe that was frustration. Or fatigue. He still couldn’t read her. Most likely she wanted stable land under her feet, too.
“If you want to stay in Alice Town, dockage will run you several hundred dollars a night,” he said.
She raised her sunglasses onto her head, revealing those startlingly emerald eyes. “That much?”
He nodded. “Marinas charge transients by the foot.”
She looked around the harbor. “What about a mooring?”
“I doubt if there’s one available, but we still need to leave here. My friend is anxious for Spree to vacate this spot so he can make money.”
He watched with interest as she nibbled on her bottom lip. Damn, but she had an intriguing mouth. He definitely needed to catch some shut-eye if he was imagining a charterer’s mouth on various parts of his anatomy.
Apparently out of arguments, she nodded. “Can I help with the fueling?”
“Well, I’ll need a credit card.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, right.”
When she emerged from below and handed him a card, he asked, “Do you want to top off the water tanks? That way you won’t have to be so careful with showering and cleaning.”
“I suppose we have to pay for water, too?”
“You have to pay for everything. Even to dump the trash.”
She sighed. “Fortunately, we don’t have much trash yet. Do it. Deb and Joan are going to want showers when they wake up—even if the water is cold.”
Fifteen minutes later, with Spree’s tanks full of water and fuel, Cat cast off the bow line. Javi placed the engine in Reverse and backed away from the dock. Heath waved as they motored away, obviously glad to see them go.
A sixty-five-foot motor yacht squeezed into their space as soon as they vacated.
“Do you want me to get on the radio and find a place to spend the night?” he asked.
Frowning, Irish looked toward the cabin. “I wish I knew what they’d want to do.”
“Wake them up and ask.”
“I tried. They’re both out of it from sedatives.”
Javi shrugged. That’s one way to cure seasickness. “I thought the vote was for serenity.”
“Yeah, but that was before they became violently ill.”
“So it’s up to you, Irish. What do you want to do?”
“How far to an anchorage?” she asked. “The closest place to allow us to get some sleep.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, but with our depth Gun Cay is the closest safe anchorage. That’s a three-hour sail.”
She nibbled on her lower lip again, a sign she was deep in thought. At least he’d learned something about her. He needed to forget the idea of learning more.
Another Jet Ski roared by them, forcing Irish to grab hold of the wheel to keep her balance.
“Let’s stick to the original plan,” she said. “I vote for calm.”
“You got it,” he said.
* * *
FOUR HOURS LATER, with the sun well on its way toward the horizon, Cat stood behind the wheel and motored Spree toward Gun Cay. She’d expected a protected cove of some sort, but apparently they were going to anchor offshore where the land blocked the action of the wind and waves.
On the bow, having already secured the sail, Javi hoisted an anchor from a storage compartment onto the deck and returned to the cockpit. Using the binoculars, he surveyed the area around them.
“I don’t see anyone else anchored.” He handed her the binoculars and took over at the wheel.
Cat scanned the area through the lenses. As predicted there were no other boats—the reason they’d made that crazy crossing. So why did Javi look uneasy? Maybe he was worried about the depth. Maybe he always looked worried. For a sail bum, he never seemed to relax.
“This is good,” he said with a nod at the depth finder. “See the difference in the color of the bottom?”
Cat nodded, noting the water surrounding them in places appeared lighter, other spots darker.
“The lighter color means sand, which allows the anchor to dig in better than sea grass. After I drop the hook, shove the engine into Reverse and give it a little gas until I signal to stop.” He held up a clenched fist to demonstrate.
Within minutes, Javi had dropped the anchor overboard. She set the hook by backing up, forcing the tines to dig into the sandy bottom.
When he gave her the signal, she placed the engine in Neutral and moved to the bow. Looking over with Javi, she gasped at the clarity of the water. It was impossible to tell the depth, but she could see everything on the seafloor, including their anchor on the bottom maybe sixty feet away.
Javi still looked worried, though.
“Best to visually check it,” he said.
Before she could respond, he’d yanked off his shirt, revealing the flat abs and muscular chest that sparked a tug of temptation every time she got a glimpse. Without another word, he moved to the stern, flipped down a ladder she’d never noticed and dove into the ocean. He swam in the direction of the anchor. With a furious kick, he submerged, came up once to take a huge gulp of air and then dove again.
He surfaced again and used the ladder to climb into the boat. Water sluiced over every visible muscle, pooling in the cockpit at his feet. Cat swallowed and forced herself to avert her gaze.
“It’s holding,” he announced.
She remained on the bow, checking out Gun Cay, waiting for the engine to go silent. She released a relieved breath when it did. In less than a day, she’d grown to hate the sound of boat motors. Now all she could hear was the sound of the wind gently clanging the rigging on the mast, the squawk of an occasional bird and the slap of water against the side of the boat, the tide either going out or coming in.
She couldn’t make out anything on land, just a green hump on the horizon, probably trees or mangroves. She looked forward to exploring tomorrow.
Leaning against the bow support, staring at the incredibly clear blue-green water around her, Cat again marveled at how alert she remained. She ought to long for sleep, but had no desire to climb into her bunk. She suspected Javi had already collapsed in his without bothering to tell her. If she was tired, he had to be beyond exhausted, although he didn’t act it. The man was like that battery-operated rabbit that never stopped. Good thing, too.
She and her friends had been nuts to insist on this anchorage.
This whole journey had been so new, so challenging, so completely different from anything in her past, that she didn’t want to—then she heard a distinctive new sound. But one she knew well.
The pop of a cork releasing from a bottle of champagne.
Was the captain celebrating their safe arrival?
She hurried to the cockpit and found Javi—still bare chested, but with a towel around his neck—pouring wine into two of the plastic flutes they’d used for mimosas yesterday morning. Was that really just yesterday morning?
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” she said as she accepted the champagne and sat facing him across the cockpit, pushing up sunglasses that were no longer necessary.
“I’m too wired,” he said. “You?”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “I’m exhausted yet wide-awake.”
“To your first crossing,” Javi said, holding up his wine.
“And a safe arrival,” Cat said, touching his flute with hers with a plastic clink.
They both took sips. Nice. Surprised, she glanced at the bottle and realized this wasn’t the inexpensive stuff she and her friends had purchased for morning mimosas. Must be the captain’s private stash.
“Were you worried during the sail?” he asked.
“I was terrified,” she admitted. “But strangely loved every minute of it. Well, almost. Not so much when you pointed out that shark following us.”
Javi laughed. “He thought we were his mother.”
“All I could think about was Jaws.”
“You did great, Irish. You’re good crew, and I appreciate your help.”
“Thanks,” she said, hoping the flush she felt in her face didn’t show but knowing it did. Great. Now that the adventure was over, she didn’t know how to act around the captain.
He moved to sit beside her, bringing the wine bottle with him to fill her empty glass.
“This is delicious,” she said after a healthy gulp, unable to think of anything better. Just keep drinking, Cat.
Javi murmured agreement and settled into the seat against her. “I’m surprised there isn’t at least one other boat here.”
“Isn’t it off season?”
“True, but there’s a legend pirates buried treasure in this cove.”
She glanced toward land and took another swallow. “Is there any truth to that story?”
Javi shrugged. “I doubt it, but a lot of cruisers like to anchor here so they can search.”
“Don’t tell Debbie. She’ll want to buy a shovel.”
“You’re very different from your friend Debbie.”
“She’s been through a lot lately,” Cat said.
“How long have you known her?”
“We met as freshman at the University of Florida.”
“And now she’s been through a divorce.” Javi nodded. “That changes a person.”
Cat took another swallow of champagne for courage. “Is that comment from firsthand experience?”
“I’ve never been married, if that’s what you’re asking. How about you?”
* * *
WAITING FOR IRISH to answer, Javi knew he was treading in dangerous waters. What am I doing? He shouldn’t be waiting for the sunset alone in the cockpit with a gorgeous charterer, sipping champagne and asking about her marital status. He should go below and sleep.
“Nope,” she said, confirming his assumption. “Never married.”
“Boyfriend back in Miami?”
“No. My orchid nursery keeps me too busy.”
“You raise orchids for a living?”
“A family business, started by my parents. I can tell that surprises you.”
“It’s an unusual profession.” Javi poured more champagne into her flute. “I figured you for a flight attendant.”
“Flight attendant?” She flushed again, and he was charmed. “Why?”
“Beautiful woman.” He raised his wine to her. “Beautiful smile.”
“Thank you,” she said, staring at her feet.
“Do I make you nervous, Irish?” Javi asked, making his voice soft.
She glanced up to meet his gaze, started to say something, but shrugged. “Definitely.”
Smiling at her honesty, he asked, “Why?”
She raised her glass in a toast similar to his. “Beautiful man. Dangerous smile.”
He laughed. “Dangerous?”
“You remind me of a pirate.”
“Do I, now?”
“Maybe it’s the earring,” she said.
He fingered his earlobe. “I had it pierced in Bali when I was eight.”
“Did you sail there?”
He nodded. “With my parents. You don’t like piercings?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said.
“Good.”
He ran a knuckle down her cheek, and her eyes widened. Her skin was as soft as it appeared.
“Or maybe it’s your beard,” she murmured, not objecting to his touch.
“My beard?”
“That makes me think of you as a pirate.”
“But pirates are marauding criminals,” he said, continuing to stroke her cheek, fascinated by the stark desire in her glittering gaze. He’d known from their first meeting that she was attracted to him. She’d tried to hide it, but he could tell.
Champagne and fatigue made it easy to ignore the voice in his brain that cautioned him to back off. But even a saint would find it hard to resist a woman as sexy as Irish.
“I can easily see you doing some marauding,” she said.
“No way,” he said. “Believe me, I’m a law-abiding man.”
Leaning closer, his gaze tracked to her lips. She’d welcome a kiss, and he wanted to know how that gorgeous mouth would taste. Getting Irish into his bunk would be easy, although a disastrous move. The image of this siren naked and willing beneath him threatened his fragile grip on common sense. Talk about too much damned bubbly.
“So you’re a man who always sticks to the rules,” she whispered, her breath soft and warm on his chin.
Not always. He captured her mouth with his, and she made a surprised noise in the back of her throat. Her lips tasted of the excellent champagne he’d been saving for a special occasion, which he’d assumed would be when he returned to duty.
She returned his kiss, shifting closer. Encouraged, he deepened their connection. She placed her hand on his shoulder, severing his last shred of control.
He pulled back and smiled into her dazed expression.
“Let’s go below,” he said, cupping her face with his palm.
“Okay,” she murmured, her voice a sweet sigh.
He rose and took her hand. Her fingers closed around his, and she came to her feet. Back off, Javi. Back off before it’s too late.
Halfway down the stairs, another noise drowned out the warning bell clanging inside his head.
Someone in the head losing their lunch.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
CAT STARED AT Javi’s tanned, muscled shoulders as she followed him down the steps into Spree’s cabin. Is this really me? Or is this an out-of-body experience because of booze and lack of sleep?
She didn’t care. For the first time in her life, she was acting on pure impulse.
What was it about the captain that made her so reckless? When he’d dripped water into the cockpit after his swim, she’d had the insane desire to lick the liquid off his chest. Right now she wanted him to lay her down on the nearest surface and take her. She closed her eyes, imagining how he would feel inside her.
Was she really going to do this?
He’d have to put on the brakes because all she could think about was stripping off his damp shorts and touching what was inside.
Were they headed to his bunk or hers?
When Javi’s grip tightened on her fingers, she looked over his shoulder. The sight of a disheveled Debbie wearing an oversize T-shirt standing outside the bathroom roused Cat from her sensual daze.
The sound of someone being sick on the other side of the closed door jerked her back into the present.
She’d been so swept away by her lust for the captain she’d utterly forgotten about her friends.
Her sick friends.
Worse, now she was angry at them for spoiling her first—and probably last—chance to do something deliciously wild. To have an adventure.
All kinds of regret replaced annoyance when Javi dropped her hand.
“Debbie,” Cat said, stepping in front of the captain, her champagne buzz all but fizzled out. “What’s going on?”
Debbie glared at her accusingly, then shifted her gaze to Javi.
Cat sighed. Were they that obvious? Did Deb sense something between her and the captain?
“Joanie’s puking,” Debbie announced, her voice slurred.
“How are you feeling?” Cat asked. Had Deb been drinking again? Not that I have room to criticize.
“Groggy,” Deb said. “I probably shouldn’t have taken a Dramamine on top of the sleeping pill.”
Cat felt Javi slip away, but didn’t turn to watch. He was being considerate by moving into his cabin to give them a little privacy, but she wanted to go in there with him, shut the door and finish where they’d started on deck. Let it go, Cat. You know the whole kiss thing was a giant mistake.
“Where are we?” Debbie asked.
“Anchored off Gun Cay exactly like we planned,” Cat said, realizing Deb was too out of it to notice anything unusual between her and the captain. Thank goodness. The embarrassment would be bad enough without Joan and Debbie knowing about her foolish behavior. She’d never hear the end of it.
“We’ve already cleared Bahamian customs?” Deb asked.
“Hours ago. You guys slept through it.”
Joan poked her head out of the bathroom, her dark hair a tangled mess around her pale face. She wiped her mouth with a damp washcloth.
“Are you okay?” Cat asked.
“Better now,” Joan said. “I just wish the boat would quit rocking.”
“It should be a calm night,” Cat said. “The winds are forecast to die down.”
Joan shuffled into the main saloon and looked out a porthole. “Can we go ashore?” she asked.
“No,” Cat said, sitting on the sofa surrounding the table.
Debbie moved next to Joan and also gazed hopefully toward land.
“It will be dark soon,” Cat explained. “And that’s an undeveloped island. There’s nothing but a small beach.”
“Precisely like the guys in the bar promised,” Deb said.
“Damn,” Joan muttered. “We lost a whole day.”
“We can take the dinghy and go ashore at first light,” Cat said. She felt bad for her friends. So far their holiday sucked. “Tomorrow will be fabulous.”
“Maybe,” Joan muttered.
“How come you didn’t get sick?” Debbie asked.
Cat shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.” She didn’t remind them she’d followed Javi’s advice and remained on deck while her friends insisted on going to their cabin. No sense making them feel worse.
“So what have you been doing all this time?” Debbie asked.
Cat inwardly groaned as her cheeks warmed. She could never hide anything. Her feelings were always obvious on her face. The curse of the redhead.
“Helping the captain with the boat.”
But her friends continued to study the anchorage and didn’t notice.
“I guess you learned how to sail,” Debbie said, still sounding sleepy.
“A bit. Are you guys hungry?” Cat asked. “Javi and I had a sandwich during the sail here, but that seems like a long time ago.”
“God, no. My stomach is a wreck,” Joan said, sitting across from Cat.
“How about a diet soda? Sometimes carbonation helps.”
Joan nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Some vacation,” Debbie murmured.
“Sorry, guys,” Cat said. She stepped to the cooler and rummaged for sodas.
“It’s not your fault,” Debbie said, moving toward her cabin. “I’m going to bed. Until this sedative wears off, I can’t even have a conversation.”
“I hope you feel better,” Cat said.
She returned to the table with numb fingers and a couple of icy cans. She and Joan each popped a top, spraying cool mist, and Joan took a long, greedy swallow.
Wondering if Joanie had dumped too much too soon on an already queasy stomach, Cat also took a drink of the cool, sweet liquid. Maybe she should suggest they return to Florida. So far this trip hadn’t been much fun for anyone but her. And her enjoyment could be at an end now with that steamy kiss out there between her and the captain. She hadn’t known how to act around him before. How was she supposed to act now?
Sad to admit, but the scratch of his beard on her cheek had been the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.
This was a small boat. He was the captain. No way to avoid each other. Would he act like nothing had happened?
How unfair to feel awkward about one stupid kiss. If she were going to be uncomfortable, she should have gotten the full experience and enjoyed what was sure to be mind-blowing sex.
“Oh, God,” Joan said, closing her eyes. “The soda didn’t help, after all.”
“Can I do anything for you?” Cat asked.
“No. Sorry, Cat, but I’m going back to bed, too.”
Leaving her can on the table, Joan lurched to her feet and barely made it to the bathroom before the sound of dry heaves began again.
Cat sighed. Just great. Now what?
She hadn’t come on this holiday to spend the week alone.
Tomorrow would be a fresh start. The obvious thing to do would be retire to her own cabin and get some much-needed sleep. She could read for a while. Remembering the spectacular sunrise, her gaze drifted to the porthole. Sure enough, the sky already showed tinges of pink. The guys in Hattie’s Hammock had promised beautiful sunsets in Gun Cay. She didn’t want to miss the first one.
Plus, she did need to eat. The door to the head swung open. Joan emerged and slipped into her cabin, shutting the door.
Cat focused on the closed door to Javi’s cabin. Was he already asleep? She could rap lightly on the door and find out.
Yeah, she could, but a different woman would. Too bad this one didn’t have the nerve.
She could use the excuse of offering food. That wouldn’t seem too obvious.
Maybe she’d find the courage with a little more booze.
She poured her diet cola into a plastic cup, added ice, a healthy shot of rum and took a sip. Not bad. Debbie would insist on lime, but that was too much trouble.
Armed with her drink, Cat hurried up the steps to the cockpit where a gorgeous coral-streaked sky welcomed her. She froze when she spotted Javi sitting on the bow leaning against an aluminum railing and chugging out of their bottle of champagne. Or was it a second bottle?
He was bare-chested, as usual, but had changed into a dry pair of shorts.
How did he get up on deck without her noticing?
* * *
JAVI TOOK THE last swig of the champagne as he admired Irish’s approach. This novice sailor already had her sea legs—and such amazing legs they were. His gaze followed the lines of firm, strong thighs and curved calves beneath her shorts.
He frowned. Too pale. He hoped she didn’t burn.
But anyway, she was off-limits. Why couldn’t he remember that?
He’d heard the entire conversation between her and her friends. No help for it on a boat this size.
So she’d been abandoned for the night. Was she lonely? Looking for company to watch the sunset? Or something else.
Well, of course he aimed to please. He nestled the empty champagne bottle on the deck where it couldn’t roll overboard.
Irish sat down beside him, also facing the setting sun. Close enough to catch the fragrance of coconut-scented sunscreen.
Close enough for him to touch her.
“Oh,” she said. “The hatch. Of course.”
He squinted at her. “What about the hatch?”
“I couldn’t figure out how you got up here, but you boosted yourself up through the opening in your cabin.”
He nodded. So maybe she didn’t want company, after all. Maybe she’d thought she’d have the deck to herself. Once again he’d misread her.
Irish had paid good money for use of this boat. He ought to give her some space.
“Do you want me to go below?” he asked.
“What?” She blinked. “Why?”
He shrugged. “If you want privacy. I don’t mind.” Like hell he didn’t.
“No. Please don’t go.”
“You want me to stay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She wrinkled her brow.
Was she confused or thinking hard?
“That is, you know, if you want to,” she said.
Maybe she was just being polite. She did appear to be the polite type.
“I wanted to watch the sun do its thing,” Javi said.
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Sharon Hartley
What she wished for...and more!An adventure is exactly what Cat Sidran wants when she and two friends charter a boat for a sailing trip in the Florida Keys. Throw in a swarthy captain, and Cat has the perfect amount of excitement. Until pirates overtake them, and Captain Javi Rivas reveals himself to be an FBI agent.Working with Javi gives Cat a thrill like she’s never felt before. She can handle danger for a couple of days if it means saving her friends, but anything longer...? She loves her quiet life; Javi thrives on adrenaline. She needs to forget her captain...if that's even possible.
What she wished for...and more!
An adventure is exactly what Cat Sidran wants when she and two friends charter a boat for a sailing trip in the Florida Keys. Throw in a swarthy captain, and Cat has the perfect amount of excitement. Until pirates overtake them, and Captain Javi Rivas reveals himself to be an FBI agent.
Working with Javi gives Cat a thrill like she’s never felt before. She can handle danger for a couple of days if it means saving her friends, but anything longer... She loves her quiet life; Javi thrives on adrenaline. She needs to forget her captain...if that’s even possible.
Cat swallowed. Why was it so hard to breathe?
“Having second thoughts?” Javi asked, his voice soft like a caress.
“No.”
She sucked in a deep breath, placed her palms on his chest and slid her fingers up to his shoulders, stepping so close that their bodies almost touched. She could smell the clean, salty ocean on him, the wine on his breath.
He hesitated, dark eyes troubled, searching her face.
The boat rocked slightly beneath her feet.
She was again losing her chance to do something reckless, to live in the moment. Because she was afraid.
She was always afraid.
She met his gaze, relieved at what she read in his expression. No question the captain wanted her.
Before he could ask something stupid like if she was sure, she placed her lips on his and closed her eyes.
Dear Reader (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5),
Writing Stranded with the Captain allowed me to revisit one of my oldest passions: sailing! My first date with my husband was on a little Sunfish rented from Dinner Key Marina in Coconut Grove. Something about zipping along the water being propelled by nothing but the wind made me fall in love with Max and sailing and, before life got too complicated, we spent a lot of time on a beloved sloop named Spree. Some of our best vacations were spent exploring the clear waters of Biscayne Bay and the Florida Keys, although the original Spree wasn’t as large or as tricked out as the one Cat and her friends charter in Stranded with the Captain.
We’ve moved to the west coast of Florida now and are looking for a new boat, probably a catamaran because of water depth. We have a new bay to discover, and life is always full of adventures. I’m hopeful—and fairly confident—that we won’t encounter anything as dangerous as Cat and Javi do in the Bahamas, but you never know. After all, Tampa Bay’s most famous festival involves a pirate named Gasparilla!
I hope you enjoy Javi and Cat’s roller-coaster ride as much as I enjoyed writing it. And, please, if you get the opportunity, go for a sail. You just might discover a new love, too.
Namaste,
Sharon
Stranded with the Captain
Sharon Hartley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SHARON HARTLEY has settled into her new home on the west coast of Florida. She’s found interesting places to volunteer, a new orchid club and loves her TARA (Tampa Area Romance Authors) sisters, who extended a warm welcome to the newcomer. But Sharon is now looking for new adventures. She hopes to sail Florida waters in the winter and travel the USA in an RV in the summer. Have computer (and yoga mat), will travel! There’s nothing like rambling to inspire ideas for fiction, so who knows where her next story will be set. Sharon loves to hear from her readers. Please visit her website at sharonshartley.com (http://www.sharonshartley.com).
This story is dedicated to all of my dorm and roommates from the University of Florida, including the “real” Joan and Debbie, two of the dearest friends ever. Such adventures we had!
I learned as much from these classy ladies as from class.
Contents
Cover (#u8c044afb-236a-5637-aecd-ec4edaa5eeae)
Back Cover Text (#u967c050d-3767-55c8-9c39-13ce0abff7ef)
Introduction (#uaf91ab3f-728d-5a4e-bade-6ac6244f4534)
Dear Reader (#u4c6405ba-6f69-5a07-8205-e072fe5c1da9)
Title Page (#u2b76da41-212c-5d97-9cd1-8c251adbcf16)
About the Author (#ud8803f98-387c-5e47-a7c4-3f29cab28095)
Dedication (#u01bd1cfe-bb97-5001-a014-29a9bd2c87d6)
CHAPTER ONE (#u9ce4b06a-aaa7-5322-857d-bca7dd45a90d)
CHAPTER TWO (#u97b3ac53-201e-5128-9b0f-c20bf0e59b32)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucaa813ab-f58f-53fa-9cb7-23cc9a5e5c21)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u13a66355-70d9-546f-9939-c607d0e19444)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u3a828d81-d5d2-5d6d-9e78-df527d2192eb)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
CAT SIDRAN CAME to a halt and admired dozens of sailboats bobbing in the water around her, one of which would be her home for the next week. The Florida sun warmed her shoulders. A stiff wind clanged rigging against tall aluminum masts, the sound a mysterious promise of adventure. She closed her eyes to listen.
An adventure was exactly what she wanted, what she needed to pry herself out of a boring rut where she never did anything but work.
Although she was safe inside her rut. And she did love her work.
A siren—an ambulance or the police—drowned out the sounds of the rigging.
“Hurry up, Cat. It’s hot out here.”
Opening her eyes, Cat glared at the back of her friend Debbie McMillan, who hurried ahead down the long concrete dock. Deb had done nothing but complain since the start of this trip. When had she become such a whiner?
“What’s the rush?” Cat asked. “We’re on vacation.”
Debbie turned, shading her sunglass-covered eyes with a brochure. “I need to get out of the sun, and so does our food.”
Joan Pastorini stepped beside Cat. “I got the extra sunscreen,” she said, holding up a plastic bag. “SPF fifty.”
“Great. Now can we find Spree?” Deb used the brochure to fan her face. “I’m melting.”
“Are you trying to depress me, Deb?” Cat asked.
Debbie shrugged. “I’m depressed enough for all three of us.”
“But you won’t be much longer,” Joan said. “We’re all going to chill and have fun for the next week.”
“So you keep telling me,” Debbie said. “But I’m not sure there’s enough tequila in all the Keys for that.”
Cat shook her head as Deb hurried down the dock. This adventure wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun if Deb’s attitude didn’t change.
“What’s the slip number for Spree again?” Deb yelled back.
“Was she always like this and I don’t remember?” Cat murmured to Joan.
“I told you she’s changed since the divorce,” Joan whispered back.
Cat watched her friend read the slip numbers. Or maybe this is why Brad left her.
“Slip twenty-eight,” Joan called, catching up to Deb.
“Here she is,” Deb said.
Cat admired the elegant lines of a white-hulled boat floating with its stern toward the dock, allowing her to confirm the name Spree in flowing black script. Two aluminum masts sprouted from the deck, the one in the rear much shorter. To provide shade, the owner had suspended a blue tarp over the opening that led below deck.
“She’s even prettier than the photos,” Joan said.
Cat silently agreed, her spirits lifting, for the first time actually believing Joan’s plan for this sailing charter might work. For the next week, she and her old college roommates planned to relax, catch up and reminisce on board this fifty-foot ketch. More importantly, she and Joan would try to coax Debbie out of the funk she’d been in since her divorce.
“Wow,” Deb said. “Look at the size of the steering wheel.”
The huge stainless-steel wheel in question stood in the center of the cockpit behind the largest mast, where people sat while under way. Cat smiled at her vision of standing behind that wheel with Spree skimming along aqua water beneath billowed white sails.
She’d always wanted to learn to sail, which is how Joan had finally convinced her to participate in this voyage.
“And damn,” Joan muttered. “Will you look at that.”
A muscled male body, glistening with sweat, emerged into the cockpit from below. An almost naked muscled male body. Ragged denim cutoffs rode low on the man’s ripped abs and hips. Very low. If they were any lower... She jerked her gaze to the man’s face.
He was tanned. Swarthy, like a pirate. High cheekbones, longish dark hair, dark eyes. Dark beard, as if he hadn’t shaved in weeks. Even a small gold hoop in one ear.
A delicious pull of attraction made her imagine something even more sensual than sailing a boat.
The man turned and stood with his back to her, staring up the mast, the rear view as spectacular as the front. Clasping his hands, he stretched his arms high overhead, rippling the muscles in his amazing shoulders, completely unaware of her ogling.
And here, likely, was Spree’s captain. Funny; she’d pictured their captain as an old salt with a British accent. She didn’t know where the accent came from, but the photo in the brochure had definitely been of such an older gentleman. Not this dangerous-looking buccaneer with a body that only came from spending a lot of time in the gym.
Not that he’d worked his muscles to where they were too obscenely bulky and huge. No question this man was strong, but also wonderfully flexible.
Flexible? Where is this coming from? Get a grip, Cat.
“Ahoy there,” Joan shouted.
Cat cringed. The man turned. Piercing dark eyes openly checked them out. He smiled, displaying perfect white teeth.
“Can I help you, ladies?”
“I hope so,” Joan said. “We’re your charterers for the next week.”
The pirate’s expression morphed into a scowl. He moved closer to them. “You’re not due until tomorrow,” he said.
“Well, I know,” Joan said, using what Cat recognized as her most wheedling tone. “But we hoped we could put our food aboard tonight.”
“You bought your own provisions? I thought you were using the concierge service.”
“We changed our minds,” Deb said. “And saved a ton of money.”
Still frowning, the man placed a hand on a metal wire connected to the deck. “I hope you used the suggested list.”
“Of course,” Joan said. “Are you the captain?”
“Yes. And according to your contract, you don’t have the boat until noon tomorrow.”
“But some of our food needs refrigeration,” Debbie said.
Mesmerized by a bead of sweat sliding down the captain’s chiseled chest toward his low-slung cutoffs, Cat forced herself to listen to the discussion.
“What would it matter if we just stored our food in the coolers overnight?” Deb asked.
“Please,” Joan added hopefully.
Appearing none too pleased, the captain hesitated, but shrugged. “Sure. How can I resist three such lovely ladies?”
“Thank you,” Cat said, and was rewarded with another smile.
The captain jumped from the deck of Spree to the dock. “I’m Javi Rivas, your captain.”
“Joan Pastorini. What happened to Captain Bree?” Joan asked.
“He had an emergency. Sorry about my appearance, but I wasn’t expecting you.” The captain shook Joan’s hand and turned to Deb.
“I’m Debbie McMillan,” she said.
“Cat Sidran.”
When the captain shook Cat’s hand, he winked, and heat warmed her cheeks. Damn. He must have noticed her drooling.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s grab a dock cart to transport your provisions.”
Telling herself to quit leering at the captain, Cat and her friends followed him down the dock toward land where he helped them transfer their grocery bags from the car into a wooden cart and wheeled the cart back to Spree, where they passed their provisions to the captain on deck. The process took three trips.
Maybe they’d bought too much food.
“Come aboard and I’ll show you where to stow your food,” the captain said with a glance at Debbie’s feet. “Tell me you brought deck shoes.”
Deb looked down at her stilettos. “They’re in my suitcase.”
“You have to put them on before you come aboard.”
“Seriously?” Deb asked.
“Didn’t you read the preboarding instructions?” Javi said.
“Don’t worry about it, Deb,” Joan said. “We’ll put away the groceries. Go wait in the shade.” To Javi, she said, “She burns easily because of her fair skin.”
“Then I hope she brought sunscreen. You, too,” Javi said to Cat, holding out his arm to help her aboard. “Redheads burn quicker than blondes.”
Landing on deck, Cat silently moaned when she couldn’t stop heat from flooding her face again. The curse of a redhead. What was she, thirteen? He helped Joan onto the boat, then said to Cat, “Come with me.”
She followed him into the cockpit, through the opening and down four steps to a cooler shaded area below deck. Wow. Spree was gorgeous, all varnished wood and neatly arranged pastel cushions.
“This is the main saloon,” Javi said.
“It’s lovely,” Cat said. Light flooded the area through an open hatch overhead and porthole windows on the side.
“I’ll give you the grand tour once your food is stowed, but this is the galley,” he said with a sweep of his arm.
“That’s the kitchen, right?” Cat asked.
“Right. This is a top-loading cooler, which runs off the ship’s generator. Freezer is one side, refrigerator on the other.” He removed a hatch that cleverly folded to cover one side or both, and then moved to the front of the boat where there was another opening to the deck.
A hatch, Cat reminded herself.
“Start passing the bags through,” he yelled up to Joan.
“Pack items you’ll use first last,” he instructed.
After the perishables, he helped Cat and Joan store dry goods into overhead cabinets. Despite being out of the April sun, they were all sweating by the time they finished.
Fanning herself, Joan plopped onto the sofa. “Is it always this hot down here?”
“There’s not much air circulation in the marina, but under way, it stays fairly cool below deck,” Javi said. “When we’re at anchor, I’ll put up wind scoops on the hatches to help ventilate below.”
“No air-conditioning?” Cat asked with a glance at Joan.
“Just the wind,” the captain said.
“Right. Let’s go find Debbie,” Joan said, avoiding Cat’s gaze.
The captain nodded, and Cat followed him into the cockpit where they discovered Debbie waiting on the dock with her luggage.
“What the hell is that?” Javi demanded.
Cat followed his gaze to Debbie’s large, hard-sided suitcase.
“What does it look like?” Deb asked.
“Something that’s not coming on this boat,” the captain said.
* * *
“DID YOU EVEN bother to read your contract?” Javi demanded. Maybe he sounded sharp, but his thigh ached. He’d been on his leg too long helping the charterers load their provisions, something definitely not in the captain’s job description, but he’d wanted to smooth over the rough start.
“The contract specifies soft-sided luggage only, preferably duffel bags,” Javi said.
“But this isn’t any bigger than Cat’s duffel,” the blonde on shore protested.
“A cloth bag can be stuffed into a small space, but not that thing,” Javi stated. “And it can’t stay out. If we hit weather, it’ll go flying and damage the boat.”
“Is there any solution?” Cat asked softly. “Maybe lash it to the deck somehow?”
Javi turned to the stunning redhead beside him on deck. She was trying to be reasonable, but he wasn’t in the mood. “For safety reasons, the less on deck, the better.”
He watched Cat exchange a look with Joan, an equally beautiful dark-haired woman. Just what he needed. Three gorgeous and spoiled women to cater to for a week. Marlin, the boat’s owner, couldn’t afford to turn down any booking, but family charters were so much easier.
“We bought a lot of large garbage bags,” Cat said. “Maybe Deb could stuff everything inside a couple and leave the suitcase ashore.”
Javi nodded. “That would work.”
“Where?” Deb asked, looking around the dock.
“I’ll ask the marina office if they can store it for a week,” Javi said. And then he realized something else. The blonde—Deb was her name—had obviously planned on putting that ridiculous suitcase on board. “Where are you ladies staying the night?” he asked. “The Marathon Motel?”
Cat and Joan exchanged another look. Deb sat on her suitcase.
“Well, since our food is already on board,” Joan said hesitantly, “we thought maybe we could stay with it.”
Did you, now? “That’s an option if you arrange it ahead of time,” Javi said, struggling to hold on to his temper. “But I didn’t see that in your contract.”
“But what would it matter?” Joan said. “We won’t be any trouble. The boat isn’t being used by anybody else.”
Javi glared at Joan. No one but me. So this was his reward for accommodating these women. If he allowed them to sleep aboard tonight, he’d have to stay with Spree. Forget about going to the gym for one last rehab session for his leg. Why had he agreed to help Marlin?
Because his friend was laid up in the hospital and would lose Spree—his home and livelihood—without the income from the already-booked charters. The old fool didn’t even have enough cash on hand to repay the deposits.
“We won’t cook in the boat,” Cat said. “We’ll go out to dinner, return our rental car and be ready to leave when you are. We couldn’t get a reservation at any motel close by.”
“Maybe we should forget the whole thing,” Debbie said, standing.
“No. Come on, Debbie,” Joan said. “Besides, we’d lose our money.”
“Couldn’t you bend the rules just this once?” Cat asked in her soft voice.
Javi shot her a look, but bit back a comment, again caught by her flawless fair skin. Damn, and her eyes were a mesmerizing green. Red hair, green eyes. Must be Irish. She flushed again under his scrutiny, something she did a lot. What’s up with that?
But the brunette was right. What did one night matter? If Marlin were here, he’d definitely give in to these three sirens.
At least they didn’t have any special requests. Marlin claimed all they wanted was a week of R & R in paradise where they didn’t have to worry about driving home after too much drinking—and from the amount of tequila they’d brought on board they intended to do plenty of that. They planned some snorkeling, paddle boarding and quiet nights anchored in protected coves.
Javi nodded at the blonde. “All right. Transfer your possessions into garbage bags and welcome aboard.”
* * *
“‘WELCOME ABOARD’?” DEBBIE MIMICKED, lifting her tequila shot off the scarred wooden table in a toast. “Captain Bligh actually said ‘Welcome aboard’ after being such a jerk.”
“He did help us with our food,” Joan said.
“Here’s to that,” Cat said, raising her own small glass. Following tradition, she licked salt off her hand, swallowed the liquor and bit into a tart lime. Her eyes watered, then the whole mess settled in her stomach and burned. She grinned at her friends, triumphant.
“Whoo-hoo, Cat!” Debbie said, whirling her arm in the air. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Anyway, we’re sleeping on board tonight,” Joan said, settling back in her hammock suspended from the high wooden ceiling. “It all worked out.”
“I didn’t think he’d agree,” Cat said. Using her foot, she pushed her own hammock into motion, relaxing into the gentle sway.
After transferring their luggage to Spree, Cat and her friends had returned their rental car and grabbed a taxi to Hattie’s Hammock, a restaurant with a popular bar on the water within walking distance of Spree’s marina. They planned to have dinner, a few drinks, and then make their way back to the boat.
“He damn sure wasn’t happy,” Deb said. “I hope he’s not like that the whole week.”
“I suspect he’ll stay as far away from us as possible,” Joan said.
“And here’s to that,” Deb said, again raising her glass and taking the third of the three shots they’d each ordered. With a flourish, she turned the glass upside down on the table beside the other two. “We need more. I’ll get our waitress.”
Worried Deb was imbibing too much tequila, Cat followed her friend’s progress to the crowded bar where she was immediately approached by a tanned, good-looking dude of around thirty. Cat sighed. Maybe now she was the one being a jerk. She wasn’t Deb’s mother. Inside her head she could hear Joanie telling her to loosen up already, that bad things didn’t always happen.
Anyway, Deb appeared to be enjoying herself—the whole point of this trip.
Deb’s new friend had brown hair, a great smile and must have had a good line, because she actually smiled back at the guy. She leaned on the bar, and they began to talk.
“Look at that.” Cat nudged Joan, who appeared to be lost in thought as she dreamily looked out over the calm water.
Refocusing on Deb and the guy at the bar, Joan said, “Now that’s a very good sign.”
“Has she said anything to you about Brad?” Cat asked.
“Just that he’s marrying the old bat this week.”
“The filthy-rich old bat,” Cat muttered.
“He apparently had to sign a prenup,” Joan said, “but still gets a ton of cash in case of divorce.”
“Yeah, well, he’s good at divorce.”
The dude at the bar bought Debbie a drink, and she perched on a stool beside him. Cat frowned, wondering if that was such a good idea. They were in a strange town and didn’t know a soul.
But maybe a little attention from an interested male was exactly the medicine her friend needed to restore her shaky confidence, which was likely why Deb was being such a pain. This was the first night of their vacation, a getaway they all three needed. They didn’t have to drive anywhere, so why not cut loose?
Hadn’t every man she’d ever dated told her she was uptight, nervous, always worried about the future, seeing disaster around every corner? Some had used less flattering descriptions. Okay. So she was a cautious person, but that was for good reason. Bad things did happen sometimes. She had firsthand proof of that.
Still, she ought to learn from Deb. Hurting from the betrayal of a husband she’d dearly loved, yet here she was bravely meeting new people.
Am I too cautious to ever have a good time? Too frightened to ever take a chance?
Well, not this trip.
Cat took a deep breath and upended her second shot. A little loopy, she was glad to see the waitress arrive with her nachos. Steam billowed into the air from the plate before her, and the tantalizing fragrance of melting cheese and spicy chilies reminded Cat she was starving.
Joan caught Debbie’s eye and motioned for her to return to their table. She did, with the barfly in tow.
As she took her seat she said, “Jeff, this is Joan and Cat, the best friends a gal ever had.”
Cat scrutinized Deb. How much more tequila had she downed at the bar?
“Will you join us, Jeff?” Joan invited, removing her purse from the empty fourth hammock at their table.
“Thanks,” Jeff said.
“Have you eaten?” Cat asked to be polite as she used her fork to detach a tortilla chip from a mound of cheese and salsa.
“You ladies go ahead,” Jeff said, placing his drink on the table. “I’m waiting for some buddies.”
“Jeff crews on a private sailboat and knows these waters well,” Deb said as she squeezed mayo on top of the lettuce and tomato on her mahimahi sandwich.
“How big is the boat?” Joan asked before taking a bite of a giant hamburger.
“Eighty feet. She’s in dry dock for a week, so I’ve got some free time.”
“He was telling me about a fabulous anchorage in the Biminis where we need to go,” Deb said. “Tell them, Jeff.”
“Yeah, I highly recommend Gun Cay if you have enough draft.”
“Draft?” Deb asked.
“How deep your keel goes down in the water,” Jeff explained. “You don’t want to run aground. The water depth in Gun Cay is about ten feet, so it’s dicey at low tide for the Ocean Watch.”
“Ocean Watch is the boat you work on?” Cat asked.
“Right. Do you know your draft?”
“Six feet,” Joan said.
“Then you’ll have no problem. There’s seldom another boat to interfere with your serenity. At least, now that the busy winter season is over.”
“I like that idea,” Cat said.
“Crowded anchorages can ruin a vacation,” Jeff said with a nod. “And with no one else around, you ladies can enjoy the sun au naturel, one of the best things about cruising.”
“I don’t know about that,” Joan said. “We have a male captain.”
“I doubt if he’d mind,” Jeff said with a laugh. “Anyway, the water is so clear in Gun Cay, you can see every detail on the bottom from the deck of Ocean Watch. There’s plenty of conch, interesting fish, great snorkeling. The interior of the island is like a jungle with tons of birds if you’re a birder, and there’s a fabulous sandy beach. You can take the dinghy ashore and have a bonfire and barbecue at night. Killer sunsets are another plus.”
“Doesn’t it sound like heaven, guys?” Deb asked.
“Is it far away?” Cat asked, surprised by Debbie’s enthusiasm, more like the old Deb she remembered from their college days. If this pristine anchorage was doable, why not?
“It’s an easy half day or so sail from here, the perfect shakedown cruise to learn about your temporary home.”
“But I thought we decided to stay in the Keys,” Joan said before biting into a French fry.
“Jeff says we won’t find a peaceful anchorage in the Keys,” Debbie said.
“Not like this one, anyway,” Jeff added. “It’s our favorite spot to drop a hook in the Bahamas.”
“It does sound awesome,” Cat said with a glance at Joan, who appeared to have doubts about the new idea.
“There are my friends now.” Jeff stood and waved his arm to catch the attention of two other men who threaded their way through the crowded bar toward him.
“What do you think about Gun Cay, Joanie?” Cat asked.
“I think our captain will object to a change in plans.” Joan eyed the two newcomers, and then grinned. “And I think we’re about to have a party.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
JAVI JERKED AWAKE at the sound of laughter drifting through the open hatch. He reached for his service weapon, senses instantly on alert.
He released the gun when he realized where he was and that a group of obviously inebriated people were making their way down Spree’s dock. Illuminating his watch in the dark, he cursed. 1:00 a.m. Damned inconsiderate of these jerks to make so much noise this late on a dock full of live-aboards, some with families.
He gazed through the hatch at stars twinkling in the dark sky. Could these drunken revelers be his charterers? He heard male voices, but maybe the ladies had hooked up and invited new lovers to spend the night on Spree.
Why not? They were on holiday.
“There she is,” a woman said with a touch of admiration. “That’s our Spree.”
“She’s got beautiful lines,” said a male voice.
“Shh!” another woman said, trying to whisper but utterly failing.
Laughter. More whispers and ineffective shushes. Javi resisted the urge to go up top and see what was going on. After several minutes of conversation and a mention of someone needing to get to bed, he heard goodbyes.
A clumsy thud sounded overhead in Spree’s cockpit, followed by giggles and more shushing. Footsteps clomped down the companionway steps as his charterers descended into the main saloon. Fortunately, he’d already closed the door to his quarter-berth cabin. They spoke in subdued tones, at least making an attempt to be quiet, although the occasional laugh broke through.
Reminding himself these women were on vacation and that he’d given them permission to stay aboard tonight, he waited for them to settle in their bunks.
As their hushed conversation continued, he caught mention of an ex-husband they all considered the devil incarnate. Javi wondered which one the ex belonged to, but doors closed, indicating they’d entered their cabins. Faint voices reached him from the master suite shared by Joan and Debbie. Irish, the redhead with the porcelain skin, had opted for the smaller cabin with bunk beds.
The ache in his thigh jerked him back to the present. He’d done what strengthening exercises he could do without a gym, and maybe he’d overdone the reps to compensate. He was seriously pissed about how long his recovery was taking. Two months in from the shooting, and he still wasn’t a hundred percent.
The worst thing wasn’t the pain. The worst thing was the boredom. But he only had four more weeks before he’d be cleared to return to active duty. Four never-ending weeks. God, he missed the job.
Although boredom wasn’t what he anticipated for the next week. Frustration from these clueless women sounded about right.
Spree rocked gently at the dock as he stared through the hatch at a dark sky full of millions of stars. That subtle motion brought back memories of the many happy years aboard Ganesh, a forty-five-foot wooden yawl, his home until college. He and his brother, Roberto, been homeschooled by his mom and dad as they cruised around the world, often hooking up with Marlin at foreign ports. It’d been a hell of an education from far more than textbooks.
Until it all came crashing down on their heads. Javi closed his mind to history that wasn’t quite ancient enough.
This charter had gotten off to a rocky start, and it was his fault because he didn’t like change. Mandatory visits to the Bureau shrink after the shooting had revealed that lovely quirk. Dr. Moonface claimed it was because he had a controlling personality. Maybe she was right. As a result of his irritation, the charterers considered him an evil troll, no doubt on a par with the evil ex.
One of the reasons he’d allowed them to sleep aboard tonight was to enable an early start. The channel in this marina was tricky at low tide, and he wanted to take advantage of the morning high tide. But considering their late night of partying, he doubted any of the ladies would be up before noon. More change.
He’d do better tomorrow, work hard to control his reactions and make them feel welcome. He was supposed to be a gracious host, not a pain in the ass. Marlin depended on repeat business.
As he drifted off, soothed by the rhythm of the boat, Javi decided to fix the women brunch for their first day. Pancakes and bacon. That ought to work. The aroma of frying bacon would rouse the dead. The contract specified they did their own cooking, but in his experience women appreciated a food offering.
* * *
JAVI WOKE TO the shrieks of seagulls greeting a boat returning to port. He heard the quiet rumble of a motor, and Spree rocked from the wake. He suspected this was the Growler, who came in from her night of fishing around 6:00 a.m. Through the overhead hatch, he watched coral-tinged clouds drift, reflecting the sunrise.
Morning had always been his favorite time of day. The world remained calm, the day ahead unknown and the temperature cool. At home, he’d be lacing up his shoes for an early run. But a return to jogging was still weeks away.
He rolled out of his bunk and pulled on khaki shorts and the light blue T-shirt with Spree’s logo he’d wear for the next week, determined to be a welcoming, proper captain today. When he entered the main saloon, as he suspected, none of his charterers were yet awake. Working quietly, he fired up the butane stove and prepared a pot of coffee.
He poured himself a cup and he set out three unbreakable coffee mugs for the women. Grabbing a towel, he hurried up the stairs. He’d take a hot shower in the facilities provided by the marina—the last good shower for a week. He’d check with the Growler, too. If she had a good night, the captain might share extra mahimahi, which would provide a fresh fish dinner for the charterers.
Javi came to a startled halt in the cockpit where he discovered the redhead fast asleep, her long hair loose and splayed out along the fiberglass bench. She wore shorts and a T-shirt that read Green Gully Orchids. He enjoyed a long look at how her shirt strained against what appeared to be perfect breasts. His gaze drifted appreciatively down her long, toned body. Nice legs, too.
Under different circumstances, no question he’d make a play to get this one in his bed.
But Irish was a charterer, which made her totally off-limits, a hard rule no charter captain dared break or risk disaster. His role for the next week had to be the friendly yet distant professional.
Besides, these women already hated him.
She lay with her knees curled to her chest, her body language indicating she was chilled, so he placed his towel over her body and went below to grab another one for his shower. He’d thought all three had gone to their bunks, but maybe she’d been too drunk to make it to her cabin last night.
On his return, when halfway up the stairs, he spotted Irish sitting up and yawning, the towel around her shoulders.
She nodded at his cup. “Is that coffee?”
“Absolutely.” Perfect opportunity to play the good captain. “How do you take it?”
She smiled sleepily. “Just a little cream, please.”
He returned and handed her a fresh mug.
“Thanks,” she said, and took a cautious sip.
“You’re welcome.” Javi sat across from her. “Something amiss with your cabin?”
“My cabin is fine. I came up to look at all the stars, and I guess I fell asleep.” She shot him a pointed look. “Was that against the rules, too?”
“Not at all. But if I’d known you were up here asleep, I’d have been quieter.”
“Oh.” Her pale cheeks flushed a delightful pink. “I’m sorry about last night. We had a little too much to drink.”
Javi mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to bring up the noisy arrival. So much for getting on better terms with my charterers.
“That happens sometimes on vacation,” he said.
She nodded, still appearing embarrassed. “Did you give me this towel?”
“You looked cold.”
“Thanks.” She broke eye contact and took another sip of coffee.
“Not a problem.” When she didn’t speak again, Javi decided Irish wasn’t the friendly type. Or maybe she wasn’t a morning person. He stood. “I’m going to grab a shower at the marina.”
“We can’t shower on board?”
“You can,” he said. “But I didn’t want to wake your friends. Plus, we have a limited fresh water supply, and none of it is hot.”
Her eyes widened. “No hot water?”
“At anchor, I can rig a sun shower and use solar heating to get some water warm. Have you ever chartered before?”
“No,” she admitted. “Joanie is the sailor.”
And apparently Joanie didn’t tell her friends the truth about life aboard a chartered sailboat, or at least this one. “When your friends wake up, I’ll give you the full orientation and a safety drill.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Cat said.
Javi couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or serious. The woman was hard to read, something he wasn’t used to, which annoyed him.
This was going to be one miserable week.
* * *
CAT RELEASED A relieved sigh when the captain jumped onto the pier and moved out of sight. The man made her nervous. He was too damned tall, too damned fit and way too gorgeous. The best strategy would be to ignore him as much as possible for the rest of the week. That’s the way she handled men who made her nervous, which was most men.
She found it so much easier to talk to her orchids. They didn’t talk back, expecting her to say something witty or intelligent.
She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift to her shade house full of phalaenopsis. She knew what to do there, how to nurture her plants into awe-inspiring blooms. Why was it so hard for her to interact with real, breathing, talking human beings? Her mother and father had built Green Gully Orchids by making friends all over the world at shows and conferences, while she preferred to hide in the background and hope no one paid her the slightest attention. Why couldn’t she be more like her parents?
Javi had a body that belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine, but he was also the captain of this boat. She couldn’t snub him all week because she was tongue-tied. She had to interact with him, especially if she wanted to learn how to sail. The brochure hadn’t mentioned the lack of running hot water, but it had most definitely promised sailing lessons.
Cat took a swallow of delicious coffee. The captain might be prickly about his precious rules, but he could brew an excellent cup of caffeine.
She was on vacation, for goodness’ sake. They hadn’t even left the dock, and she’d already started thinking about her business. How ridiculous. Joan was right. She needed to relax. She needed to forget about one bad night ten years ago.
So why not go below and crawl into her bunk? She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on deck last night, but the rock of the boat had acted like a narcotic. The tequila probably didn’t hurt, either. Joan and Debbie wouldn’t be up for hours, particularly Deb, who’d imbibed an incredible amount of liquor.
Cat sighed and took another swallow of coffee. How would her friends feel this morning? Probably not so great. And how much fun would this trip be if Deb stayed drunk the whole time?
Cat stood, intending to make her way to her cabin, when a group of pelicans flew overhead in a perfect V-formation. She watched them glide out of sight and became caught by the beauty of the early morning, how the water reflected blurred profiles of the boats and their masts similar to an impressionist painting. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, and she took a deep breath of salt-laden air.
No, she wouldn’t go back to bed. She was wide-awake. Why not grab her camera and explore the area around the marina?
She slid on her boat shoes and hurried below. The door to Deb and Joan’s cabin remained closed, so she quietly entered her own and found her camera. On her return trip, she noticed the captain had laid out cups for her friends. He’d also poured the brewed coffee into a thermos to keep it warm.
So he wasn’t a total jerk. Joan’s ploy to finagle a free night on the boat had contributed to their initial problems. Hopefully things would flow more smoothly from now on.
She stuck her tiny digital camera into the pocket of her shorts, pulled on the line to get Spree closer to the dock and hopped off the boat. She’d noticed an interesting landscaping arrangement outside the restaurant, and she was always on the hunt for new ideas for show displays.
Halfway down the dock, Cat encountered a pelican with plastic fishing line wrapped around his huge pouch. She startled the bird into an ungainly waddle, so she stopped, staring in horror at his beak.
No way could he open his mouth to fish. Which meant he—or she—couldn’t eat and would soon starve to death. The pitiful thing already looked thin and weak.
Would he let her untangle the snare? As she moved toward the bird, he hurried away from her, flapping his wings.
Cat nibbled on her bottom lip, thinking. What could she do to help? She had to do something.
She fished out her camera and snapped a photo. Yeah, that’ll help him eat.
She glanced to the end of the long dock. What she needed was assistance, someone with expertise, but it was too early for the marina store to be open. She didn’t see anyone on the deck of any of the other boats close by.
The door to the one-story building where the captain had disappeared opened, and he emerged wearing shorts with dozens of pockets and a towel draped around his bare chest. His hair was wet, slicked back from his high forehead. As he grew nearer, she noted he hadn’t shaved but had trimmed his beard. He still reminded her of a pirate.
Javi grinned at her as he approached, and she again felt that delicious tug of attraction. What was it about this guy? No question he had a killer body, but so did a lot of men. Of course, normally when she met a man, he wore a little more clothing. The captain always seemed to be in a state of partial undress.
She pointed at the pelican. “Is there anything we can do to help that guy?”
The captain’s grin faded when he saw the bird. He cursed softly.
“Could we catch it and remove the line?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
The large brown bird, seeming to know he was being discussed, turned his back on Cat and Javi.
The captain reached into one of his many pockets and removed an instrument that looked like pliers. He handed them to Cat. She looked down at the metal device, which was warm from his body heat.
“Snips,” he said in explanation. “I’m seldom without them on Spree.”
Because something is always in need of repair? Great. “Do you have a plan?”
“Stay there,” Javi said. “Don’t make any loud noise or sudden movements.”
“So you’ve done this before?” Cat asked.
“Way too often. Fishermen all over the world cut and release that damned monofilament line, never thinking about the harm it does when tangled up with sea life.” He shook his head. “The ocean can be a scary place.”
Removing the towel from his shoulders, the captain moved to the other side of the bird. The pelican nervously eyed them, but Javi took slow, steady steps, almost in slow motion.
Just as the bird lifted his wings to fly away, Javi grasped him by his bill and held the bird against his body with the towel.
“You’re okay, boy,” the captain said in a soothing voice. “You’re okay.”
The pelican squirmed, but Javi kept him under control, never removing his hand from the bill.
“I didn’t see a hook,” he said. “Can you see one?”
Cat studied how the line looped around the bird’s bill. “No. I think he’s just all tangled up.”
“Good. Or else we’d have to call the rescue station.”
“Can he breathe with you holding him like that?” she asked.
“I’m not holding him that tightly. Are you the nervous type?”
“What?” Cat looked at Javi rather than the bird. Actually, she was. Was it that obvious?
“I need you to cut the line while I’ve got him restrained. Can you do that? Like maybe now.”
Cat took a deep breath, her gaze back on the struggling animal. “As long as you hold him so he doesn’t bite me.”
“Trust me. I’ve got him.”
Trust him? Not in a million years, but she stepped closer, searching where to make the first snip. Years of repotting had taught her how to use cutting tools and that she had to choose wisely. Once cuts were made, there were no do-overs.
But orchid plants didn’t squirm and glare at her with huge, terrified eyes.
“Careful not to poke the bird,” Javi said.
“Yeah, I get that,” Cat said. “The line is dug in deep in some places.”
“I can’t hold him all day.”
Her decision made, Cat made two quick snips, and most of the line fell away. The pelican eyed her with wild-eyed suspicion as she snipped two more times. As she gently plucked away the remaining line, the bird thrashed harder in Javi’s arms.
With the bill now free, the captain released the bird, who flapped away with an outraged guttural squawk.
“You’re welcome,” Javi yelled at the fleeing pelican.
“Will he be okay?” Cat asked.
Javi shrugged. “Should be. I don’t think he was hung up too long.” He looked down at himself, brushed dirt—or maybe poop—and a brown feather from his stomach and made a face. “I guess I need another shower.”
“Sorry,” Cat said, her focus on the captain’s tight abs, which no question were filthy from his contact with the bird. Lucky bird.
“Thanks for helping,” she said.
The captain executed a crisp salute. “At least someone is grateful. See you on Spree.”
Cat watched him move back toward the shower, but he turned and said, “Good job, Irish. You saved that bird’s life.”
Her face grew warm with pleasure. She knew her cheeks were beet red, but she didn’t care. Praise was something she seldom heard, and it felt good even if the appreciation came from a sail-bum pirate.
A totally hot sail-bum pirate.
Humming to herself, she reversed course and returned to Spree. She needed to celebrate with another cup of the captain’s coffee. Plus, saving Parky the Pelican had worked up an appetite. She’d whip up some breakfast and see if that woke up her friends.
She was on vacation. She wanted to go sailing.
* * *
WHEN JAVI RETURNED to Spree, he carried a large fileted mahimahi donated by the crew of Growler that would make an excellent dinner tonight for his charterers. As he pulled on the dock line, he sniffed the enticing aroma of bacon and suspected Irish had beaten him to the task of making breakfast. Maybe helping with the injured bird had earned him a few points.
Once on deck he heard voices, so at least one of the other women was awake. Good. The tide had already begun to change, and he wanted to be out of the channel before dead low tide at noon.
Reminding himself to behave like a professional boat captain, he descended into the main cabin and found all three women at the table. In the center was an open bottle of champagne, a container of orange juice and three of Spree’s plastic wine flutes filled with mimosas.
His gaze went immediately to Irish, who nibbled on her lower lip, looking worried. When their eyes met, a faint flush stained her cheeks and she smiled. The brunette, Joan—he needed to remember their names—sat across from her, staring at the blonde, Debbie, slumped against the seat next to Irish. The plate of eggs in front of Debbie had barely been touched. The other two plates were empty.
“Good morning, ladies,” Javi said, forcing a smile. Morning mimosas weren’t so unusual. And it wasn’t his job to judge how much liquor his charterers drank. Or how early they started.
Debbie raised her mimosa in greeting. “Hail the return of the conquering hero.”
“I told them about the injured pelican,” Irish said quickly. With a glare at Deb, Irish held up a camera. “I showed them a photo I took of the poor guy before you untangled him.”
“That was nice of you,” Joan said. “Thanks.”
“Irish helped,” Javi said. “Definitely a two-person job.”
“Irish?” Joan asked. “Who’s Irish?”
Javi nodded at Cat. “Don’t you think the lassie looks like she’s from the Emerald Isle?” he asked, faking an Irish brogue. He tried to catch her eye and wink, but she looked down, fussing with her camera.
“What’s that?” Debbie said, sniffing the air. She pointed at the wrapped package.
“Fresh fish for dinner.” Javi stashed the mahimahi in the cooler. “I’ll grill it when we’re at anchor tonight.”
“Oh, please don’t mention food,” Debbie said with a groan. “Cat tried to make me puke with her bacon and eggs at the crack of dawn.”
“Are you sick?” Javi asked.
“Nothing that a little hair of the dog won’t cure.” Debbie downed the rest of the pale yellow liquid in her glass, and poured more champagne from the bottle.
“We’ve got aspirin on board if you need it,” Javi offered.
“I’m fine,” Debbie said, settling back against the seat with her flute.
“Would you like some champagne?” Joan asked.
“No thanks,” Javi said.
“There’s plenty of food left if you’d like something to eat,” Irish said, indicating a covered skillet on the stove.
“Thanks,” Javi said. “That would be great.”
He scooped scrambled eggs, a couple of slices of bacon and a piece of cold toast onto a plastic plate, then leaned against the counter to eat, watching the women, who fell silent with furtive glances at each other.
Something was definitely going on with the three of them. They’d been in a heated discussion, but immediately clammed up when he’d entered the galley. Maybe the other two were concerned about the blonde’s drinking and didn’t want him to know. The glasses in front of Joan and Cat were still half-full.
Not his problem.
When finished with breakfast, Javi cleaned his plate and put it back in the cupboard. The contract stipulated the charterers keep the galley clean. Should he say something or wait and see what happened? He’d wait. These were grown women, and he wasn’t their father.
“Are you ladies ready to go sailing?” he asked.
“Yes,” Irish and Joan said simultaneously.
Debbie shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Javi nodded. “Good. I want to get started while the tide is still high. Let me go over a few safety procedures first.”
“We have a request,” Debbie said.
Something in the blonde’s tone lit up Javi’s radar. Sensing trouble, he said, “We aim to please. What’s up?”
“We want to go to Bimini.”
“Bimini?” Javi repeated, emphasizing each syllable.
Gazing expectantly at him, all three women nodded in agreement.
Of all the things he’d feared, he never expected a request for a trip to the Bahamas. Doable, of course, but not on a charter with two novices.
“Bad idea,” Javi said. “Bimini is a fifteen-hour sail.”
“We heard about a great anchorage called Gun Cay,” Irish said. “Do you know it?”
“Yes,” Javi said. “Where did you hear about Gun Cay?”
“Some guys we met last night,” Joan said. “They raved about how beautiful and serene it is.”
“Is it as wonderful as they said?” Cat asked.
Javi nodded. “Definitely a primo anchorage, but you’ll use up a lot of your time on the boat getting there and back instead of relaxing. Is that what you want?”
“Sounds perfect,” Debbie said. “Cat wants to learn to sail. She and Joan can help you while I lay out on deck and drink.”
Javi smiled at Debbie. You just think that’s what will happen. “It will be an uncomfortable passage. The wind is out of the north, the leading edge of a front, so it’ll kick up the Gulf Stream and we’ll have to beat the whole trip.” He looked to Joan for confirmation.
“Beat?” Cat asked.
“Sail into the wind,” Javi answered. “Because of that, we’ll be heeled over, and it’ll get rough in the ’Stream.”
“Heeled over?” Joan asked.
Javi stared at her. “I thought you were the sailor.”
“Hobie Cats,” Joan said. “Sailing a Hobie is such a rush.”
“No question,” Javi agreed.
So Joan sailed a small, two-hulled catamaran built for speed, fun and short day sails with no cabin. She knew the basics of sailing, but had no clue about life on a monohulled charter boat.
Great. Make that three novices.
“You know how Hobies sail up on one pontoon?” Javi asked.
Joan nodded. “That’s when it’s really exciting. It’s like you’re flying.”
“Same idea. Imagine we’re under sail and this cabin is tipped over at a thirty-degree angle.” Javi demonstrated by holding his hand level, then slanting it one side. “The heeling is because of the action of the wind on the sails.”
“But we won’t flip over?” Irish asked.
“No. There’s a several ton keel below the hull that acts as a counterbalance, but it’s hard to move around without falling, much less use the head—the bathroom. Plus, Bimini is in a foreign country, so we need to clear customs. That means we have to wait to leave so we arrive during daylight. You’ll lose today.”
“Fine by me,” Debbie said. “I can go back to bed. Joan and Cat can go shopping.”
Irish nibbled on her bottom lip, looking doubtful.
“Or we could go out for a sail this afternoon,” Joan said. “You know, like a shakedown cruise.”
“Do you have your passports?” Javi asked.
“We brought them just in case,” Debbie said.
Of course you did. Javi scowled. He’d hoped a lack of passports would end the discussion. “There’s also an arrival fee that you’ll have to cover.”
“The guys mentioned that last night,” Joan said. “We’ll pay it.”
“And remember we’ll be sailing for fifteen hours, most of the time in the dark.”
Debbie lifted her chin. “Sounds like fun.”
Javi knew that tone of voice. Stubborn. She wanted to go, and no amount of common sense persuasion would talk her out of it.
“The sail over might not be such fun,” he said, nodding at Irish, who seemed the most cautious of the three.
She glanced at Debbie, and then back to him. “Is it safe? I mean, we wouldn’t be in any danger of getting lost at sea, would we?”
“I can’t make any guarantees,” Javi said, needing to talk these three sirens out of this idea. “Something could always go wrong—equipment failure, unexpected weather. That’s in the contract that you signed. And there’s always the possibility of getting sick in rough seas.” Or make that the likelihood.
“I never get seasick,” Joan proclaimed. “And something could break even if we stay in the Keys.”
“Repairs are easy when we’re close to land.”
“Is there something wrong with the boat?” Debbie demanded.
“Not at all,” Javi said. “Spree is totally sound.”
“Aren’t the Bahamas an option on the website?” Joan asked.
“Yes,” Javi admitted.
“Have you made the sail before?” Irish asked.
“I think our hero is afraid of making the trip,” Debbie said before he could answer.
Javi sighed. “What I’m afraid of is it won’t be an enjoyable vacation. I’ve crossed the ’Stream against a norther many times, and can handle the sail.” Single-handed if necessary, which it practically will be.
“Experienced cruisers usually wait for the wind to shift to make the crossing. You don’t have that kind of time.”
“I still say it sounds like fun,” Debbie said. “And I need some fun.”
“Are you sure?” Irish asked.
“Come on, guys,” Debbie said. “You bullied me into this holiday to cheer me up, to do something different.” She raised her flute into the air. “So let’s do something different.”
“What do you say, Joan?” Irish asked.
Joan shrugged. “If it’s as thrilling as flying a Hobie, I say we definitely go for it.”
“I can’t talk you out of it?” Javi asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Irish said.
Javi nodded, knowing he’d lost the battle, that he hadn’t painted an ugly enough picture of what they’d be up against.
He could refuse to take them, but that would make the coming week more than miserable for all four of them, plus result in a bad review online. And Marlin did list the Bahamas as an option in his charter brochure. They were within their rights to ask for Gun Cay even if he thought it was a horrible idea.
And maybe he secretly wanted to make the sail, which would be exciting, a definite challenge to sail against the wind in Spree while pushed by the Gulf Stream. He’d been bored since the FBI placed him on medical leave and needed a distraction. Wasn’t that one reason he’d agreed to help Marlin?
“I need to file a new float plan with the marina,” Javi said. “While I’m gone, stow everything that’s out so it can’t bang around the cabin when we leave the dock.”
“Um, you mentioned the possibility of some aspirin?” Debbie said.
Smothering a grin, Javi pointed. “In the first aid kit under the nav station. Remember, put everything back in its place. You ladies also might want to grab a hot shower at the marina.”
“I already took a shower,” Debbie said. “A cold one.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, Javi said, “Then I’ll need to top off the water tanks again. When I get back, we’ll check off a few safety issues and go for a sailing lesson.”
He heard someone mutter, “Captain Bligh,” as he climbed the companionway.
Javi shook his head. If his charterers disliked him now, they’d hate him in twelve hours.
CHAPTER THREE (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
STANDING ON THE bow of Spree, Cat waited for instructions from the captain. The fiberglass beneath her feet rumbled with the vibration of Spree’s engine. The smell of diesel fuel floated on the steady north wind, which tossed her ponytail, tickling her neck.
It was almost 5:00 p.m. and they were finally beginning their journey.
Her job was to release the dock line and throw it onto the dock. Joan stood on the back of the boat ready to cast off the stern line.
Debbie, hungover and tipsy from a second bottle of champagne, sat in the cockpit. Her task was to stay out of everyone’s way. During the safety instructions, she’d complained about queasiness, so the captain sent her up on deck for fresh air. Instead, she went to her cabin and fell asleep. Joan didn’t have the heart to wake her, so they never went out for that sailing lesson.
Cat refused to let Debbie’s resentment of the entire known world spoil her excitement. She was about to embark on an adventure, something that even sounded a little daunting. Who’d have thought that she, Cattleya Sidran, the biggest coward in the known world, would actually look forward to something scary? For sure her mom and dad wouldn’t believe it.
“Release the stern line,” Javi yelled to Joan.
When Javi instructed her to release the bow line, Cat heaved the rope onto the dock. He gave Spree some fuel, motored out of their slip toward the channel that led out of the marina.
“That noisy motor isn’t helping my headache,” Deb muttered when Cat scrambled back to the cockpit and sat beside her.
Cat shrugged. She didn’t much like the motor, either, but they couldn’t raise the sails until they were out in the ocean and had room to maneuver.
His jaw set, the captain alternated his focus between the water ahead and a depth finder mounted on the cockpit. Spree had to stay dead in the center of the channel that led out of the marina. The instrument “pinged” every so often, indicating they were close to running out of water beneath the keel—running aground, Javi called it, quite obviously not a good thing.
He was fully dressed now, wearing khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt and matching visor. Polarized sunglasses covered his dark eyes, but the shirt couldn’t hide the biceps in the arms that gripped the wheel. The earring glinted in the setting sun, again reminding her of a pirate.
But he wasn’t a pirate. Just a sail bum she found mysteriously attractive.
The depth finder pinged several times. Javi cursed, then muttered, “Pardon me, ladies.”
“Have you ever run aground?” Cat asked.
He grinned. “More times than I care to remember.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Debbie said, one hand holding a huge straw hat in place on her head.
Joan caught Cat’s eye and shook her head. Even Joanie was running out of patience with Debbie’s negativity.
Other marinas and businesses concerned with boating interests streamed by Spree on the right—or starboard, Javi said it was called at sea. On the left, or port, was a natural area full of mangroves, their long spidery trunks covered with roosting pelicans and a nasty odor. The narrow channel widened into a harbor, and Spree passed a large group of sailboats, their bows all pointed the same direction.
“Are those boats anchored?” Joan asked.
“They’ve picked up a mooring, which is more permanent, but there’s a fee,” Javi said. “Dropping an anchor is free.”
The wind steadily increased the farther they got from the marina. The commercial area gradually turned residential and some amazing homes appeared.
Javi nodded at Deb. “We’re about to clear the shelter of land. Trust me, you’re going to lose that hat.”
Debbie removed her hat and tossed it through the opening into the cabin below.
When they got offshore, the wind plastered Cat’s T-shirt against her body. The stiff breeze also chopped up the ocean, causing Spree to wallow through the waves.
Cat glanced at Deb, but she didn’t complain about the rough ride.
“Ready for your first lesson, Cat?” Javi asked.
She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”
“Take the wheel.”
When Cat placed her hands on the smooth metal, it was warm, either from Javi’s body heat or the sun, and she felt the rumble of the engine in her fingers. He stayed behind her, his tanned arms around her and his hands also on the wheel. She took a deep breath, got a whiff of his spicy aftershave and forced herself to concentrate on the captain’s instructions.
“Turn the wheel to starboard, like you’re driving a car, and get the feel of how the helm reacts,” he said.
“Easy enough,” Cat said, and within a few minutes got the hang of how the boat maneuvered. Not hard at all.
Then Javi stepped away, leaving her to steer alone. After a brief moment of panic, she enjoyed the sensation of being in command of the sleek boat. It was like driving a car. Sort of. She swallowed and stared at the whitecaps in the ocean.
Joan gave her a thumbs-up.
“You’re doing great, Cat,” Debbie said.
“You okay?” Javi asked.
“I’m fine,” Cat said.
“So are you ladies ready to go sailing?” Javi asked.
“Definitely,” Joan said.
“Anything to stop that noise,” Debbie said.
“I’m going to raise the mainsail,” Javi said, and moved the engine lever to Neutral. “Cat, steer the boat to port and put the bow directly into the wind.”
“How do I know when I’m directly into the wind?” Cat asked.
“See these ribbons?” Javi flicked a ribbon attached to a wire supporting the mast. “These are called telltales. When they’re streaming directly to stern, you’re in the eye of the wind.”
“Got it.”
She turned the wheel to the left until the telltales flowed toward the back of the boat where the dinghy hung off davits. Javi went forward on the deck, did some magic with lines, and a huge white sail rose on the mast, flapping so loudly she could barely hear the engine.
“Now slowly fall off the wind,” Javi yelled.
Cat steered to the right. The wind caught the sail, which billowed and quieted. Javi returned to the cockpit and pulled the huge metal pole attached to the bottom of the sail—the boom, she remembered—toward the center.
The sail grew taut, and Spree darted forward like a racehorse released from the starting gate. She felt a tug on the wheel and overcorrected, which made the sail snap crazily again, so she turned the wheel until the sail became taut again.
Javi grinned at her and shut down the engine. The vibrations abruptly ceased. Without the engine noise, the only sounds were the rush of wind on the sail and the ocean flowing over Spree’s hull. She hadn’t realized how intrusive the sound of the diesel engine had been until the natural sounds took over, a huge relief to her ears.
But with the wind pushing on the huge mainsail, Spree definitely tipped to that side, what the captain called heeling. She spread her legs for better balance.
Javi pointed to a compass, which floated inside some kind of liquid, beneath the wheel.
“Try to hold a course of thirty degrees,” he told her. “A couple of degrees either way won’t matter. We’re a long way from Gun Cay.”
As Cat gazed at the compass, trying to focus on the number thirty—northeast—the sail began flapping again.
“That noise—it’s called luffing—will be one indication that you’re off course,” Javi told her. “You can also tell by the action of the ocean on your rudder. You’ll feel a difference in the wheel.”
Cat nodded, too engrossed in sailing to reply. Watching the telltales, she played with Spree’s direction, turning the wheel, figuring out how best to remain on course. The boat responded quickly, so the trick was to make gradual adjustments. Oversteering made the sail luff every time. She relaxed her grip, aware she clutched so tightly her fingers ached.
“You learn fast,” Javi said.
“Thanks. This is fun,” Cat said, thankful the captain remained at her side. She looked behind her. Key Marathon had receded in the distance, becoming smaller and smaller on the horizon. Facing forward again, she watched the bow cut through the waves, occasionally sending a cool spray back to the cockpit. She laughed in sheer delight.
This must be what it feels like to fly.
“I’m going to release the jib,” Javi said. “It’ll change the feel of the helm, so don’t let that throw you.”
Another white sail, hidden inside a blue cover, unfurled from the bow of the boat. When it caught the wind, Spree surged forward even faster. Cat intuitively made the adjustments. And now the whole deck really did tip to the right, although the sensation wasn’t too horrible. Just a little awkward.
No one spoke for what seemed like a long while as they skimmed across the water. Deb said, “You know this is really nice, guys. Thanks for making me come.”
“Told you,” Joan said.
Debbie shot her a bird, and everyone laughed.
“Do you want to take a turn at the wheel?” Cat asked.
Debbie shook her head. She placed a white boat cushion behind her, leaned against the back of the cockpit and extended her legs out on the white fiberglass. “No thanks. I’m good.”
“Joan?” Cat asked.
Already in a position similar to Deb’s, Joan waved a hand. “I’ve got all week.”
Secretly pleased, Cat returned her attention to steering the boat. Of course, there was no way she could stand behind this wheel for the fifteen hours it would take to sail to Gun Cay.
She experienced a moment of terror when Javi left her side and trotted forward on the deck to fiddle with lines on the mast. What if he fell out? Or what if one of her friends did? By now they were miles from land.
During the safety briefing, he’d cautioned them about the boom and jibing—where the boom swung around, potentially knocking people overboard. She stood safely behind the boom and suspected that was one reason Joan and Debbie stayed low. He’d instructed them on how to use the radio for emergencies, so they could call the coast guard if the captain went for an unplanned swim.
He’d also showed them where the life jackets were stowed and made them promise to wear them if things got rough. She nibbled on her lower lip. Actually, he’d said when things got rough.
Right now he was so far forward the boom couldn’t smack him. But footing was precarious, and the seas were getting choppier. The captain couldn’t fall over, could he?
“What’s he doing? Debbie asked.
“I don’t know,” Cat answered.
The sail luffed, and Javi glanced in her direction with a frown. She quickly made a course correction.
Cat released a breath when Javi returned to the cockpit.
“You need a break,” he said.
She stepped away from the wheel, stretching her arms overhead, her shoulders tight from holding the boat on course for over an hour.
“Unless one of you ladies wants a turn?” Javi called out.
“I’m too relaxed,” Joan said. “Maybe later.”
Debbie shook her head, placing her palm flat against her stomach.
“I think your friend is a little seasick,” Javi told Cat.
“Too much bubbly,” Cat said.
“You’ll feel better if you take command of the boat,” Javi yelled to Debbie. “That helps.”
She grimaced. “No thanks.”
Javi shrugged and refocused on the sails.
“What were you doing up there?” Cat asked.
“Double-checking a repair I made. Don’t worry. We’re safe.”
“It’s gotten rough,” she said.
“It’ll get worse.”
A tingle of alarm sliced down her spine at his ominous tone. How rough?
“I was thinking,” she said. “What if one of us falls into the water?”
Javi focused on far distant land to their left and nodded. “You’re right, Irish. It’s time to put on our life jackets.”
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, with the jib refurled and the main reefed, Javi stood behind the wheel and evaluated the status of his vessel. It was full-on dark, the moon not yet up. The bow rose as it crested a trough, and then crashed back into the Gulf Stream, making him release a pleased laugh. Nothing like pitching a man and a well-designed boat against the elements to make that man feel alive. Almost as good as catching criminals.
On a thirty-degree heel, Spree raced toward Bimini like a champion thoroughbred. He could put up more sail, but why take a chance? NOAA weather predicted a storm behind this north wind, although they’d be safely across before it hit. Still, no sense in beating the hell out of his boat with novices on board. With the two-to three-knot push from the Gulf Stream, they’d make good time to Gun Cay even without the jib.
If they continued on to Gun Cay.
Satisfied that Spree was operating perfectly, Javi turned his focus to the condition of his charterers. Matters weren’t so rosy on that front.
Debbie had been violently ill over the side of the boat even before they hit the worst of the conditions. Definitely too much “bubbly.” Joan, the purported sailor, held out a little longer, but had insisted on going below to pee and as a result had also puked her guts out.
Wearing their bulky life jackets, the two of them lay curled up in misery on opposite sides of the cockpit. Debbie, on the low side, had the best of it. Joan, on the high side, clutched a winch to keep from rolling into the floor.
Irish, because she took his advice and kept control of the helm most of the time, had so far remained upright. She’d even managed to go below to relieve herself without getting sick. Since he’d taken control, she’d developed a worried crease between her green eyes, and he suspected she’d gotten a little queasy herself. But she needed a break, and he wanted to get the feel of the helm in these conditions.
No worries there. Spree was going to be fine.
So would the women once they got back on dry land.
Maybe it was time to offer to take them back to the Keys. Their decision. He bet he knew what they were going to want.
“You want to take over?” he asked Irish, who sat beside Joan, eyeing her with sympathy.
Cat jumped up. “Yes. For some reason I feel better when I have the wheel.”
“That’s the way it always works. The wind is strong and the rudder will fight you, but you can manage.”
Irish squeezed in front of him, placed her hands on the wheel and spread her legs wide. Nothing about her motions should be sexy, but damned if they weren’t, even in a life jacket. And the woman felt good pressed against him.
Inappropriate, Rivas. Javi stepped away, giving her the helm. “You got it?”
She nodded, a small smile playing with her lips, which intrigued him. Irish was one of those natural sailors who just “got” how to handle a boat. It would be fun to race against her when she got a little more experience.
“Do you think your friends would like to go back to the Keys?” he asked.
She glanced at him in surprise, but quickly refocused on the main, her gaze worriedly assessing the telltales flowing over the sail.
Good girl. She really does learn fast.
“Is that an option?” she asked.
“Totally up to the three of you, but I don’t think Joan or Debbie are having much fun right now.”
She bit her bottom lip, he suspected to stifle a laugh.
“Maybe not,” she agreed.
While Irish concentrated on getting the feel of the boat, and probably thinking about a return to Florida, Javi took the opportunity to check her out. She wore shorts and T-shirt. Before she’d put on the life preserver, he’d tried, without success, not to notice how her shirt strained against her generous breasts. The wind had pulled much of her long auburn hair loose from the ponytail, and she constantly tucked a stray lock behind an ear.
“Ask them,” she said.
“What?”
She shot him a quick look, and a slight smile told him she’d caught him eyeing her. No harm in looking.
“Ask them if they want to go back,” she said.
“Do you?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Not really, but this vacation was all about Debbie. We wanted to cheer her up.”
“Is she the recent divorcée?”
“Yes.”
“I figured.”
Irish’s cheeks, already flushed from the wind, reddened. “You heard us, huh?”
“Hard not to.”
“So,” Cat said, “I’ll do whatever Deb wants.”
Javi turned to ask the question, and found Debbie sitting up.
“I have to pee,” she said.
“I don’t recommend going below,” Javi said. “Remember what happened to Joan. You’ll really feel the motion of the ocean down there.”
“Sorry,” Deb said. “No choice.”
“Wait. Do you want to turn around?” Javi asked.
“What?” Deb halted her awkward progress toward the companionway. “You mean, go back to Marathon?”
“Only if you want to,” Irish said.
“But aren’t we closer to Bimini than Florida by now?”
“No,” Javi said. “Not really.”
He watched Debbie raise her chin, a surprisingly stubborn look in her eyes. Still, he was surprised when she shook her head.
“I’m not giving up.”
“We wouldn’t be giving up, Debbie,” Irish said. “We’re getting you back to dry land where you won’t be sick.”
“No,” Debbie insisted. “I want to go to Gun Cay.”
“You’re sure?” Irish asked.
“Yeah.”
When Debbie descended into the cabin below, Javi said, “We won’t see her again until we arrive at shore.”
Irish shrugged. “Part of the trouble between her and Brad was he said she was a quitter.”
“Doesn’t appear that way to me,” Javi said.
“So we keep going?” Irish asked.
Javi glanced to Joan, who had also sat up. “Unless you and Joan want to outvote her.”
Joan looked to port, but there was no longer any land visible. She sighed in a way that told Javi she’d go back in a flash. “Like Debbie said.”
“Your decision,” Javi said, his opinion of the women rising. They certainly weren’t wimps. “On to Gun Cay.”
Joan came to her feet. “I’m miserable no matter where I am, so I’m going to my soft bed.”
When Joan disappeared, Javi said, “I hope they don’t puke all over the cabin.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
AT THE WHEEL of Spree, Cat scanned the horizon, searching for the marker that signaled the entrance to the channel into Alice Town. According to Javi, they should be approaching North Bimini, the best place for them to clear customs.
Hidden by the sail, Javi was on the foredeck, probably relieving himself over the side of Spree, which was easier than having to go below. For sure men had it easier in the plumbing department. The wind remained steady, but the sea had grown calmer since they’d left the Gulf Stream, allowing Spree to easily slice through the water. With only the shortened mainsail up, the boat sailed almost level.
She ought to be exhausted from the punishing trip, and yeah, physically, her body was drained. Muscles she hadn’t known existed were sore, yet her brain remained alert and active. She couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this alive, this...free. And victorious, like she’d bested an ancient foe.
Perhaps that’s what the sea was. Isn’t that why men had gone to sea since time began, for the challenge the oceans presented?
Maybe she was more tired than she realized.
She didn’t want to think about what she looked like. She knew her clothes were wrinkled and filthy. She hadn’t combed her hair or bathed since yesterday morning, much less brushed her teeth. But for some reason her appearance didn’t matter. Maybe because the captain looked equally in disarray. On him, though, it was sexy.
She was hungry, though. Around 1:00 a.m. Javi had left her at the helm to heat up a can of tomato soup, which had tasted better than any meal she’d eaten in years. Although her real pleasure came from the fact that the captain had trusted her while he went below to fire up the stove. He’d also made coffee and poured it into a thermos, and they’d sipped all night to stay awake.
She’d gotten used to the shroud of darkness around them. Other than their mandatory running lights—one red and one green on either side of the bow—the only illumination had come from millions of stars and a half-moon, which cast a magical never-ending beam onto the water.
They hadn’t talked much. Mainly the occasional comment about the action of the boat, the mystery of the ocean or the occasional passing ship. They were far too busy keeping their boat on course, each taking their turn steering while the other took a quick power nap on deck.
She’d never experienced anything quite like the sunrise, watching a fiery orb ascend from the abyss to brighten the sky, revealing a gray sea that slowly morphed into an aqua miracle surrounding them. The crossing had been an almost mystical experience for her, alone in the dark with the captain, battling the elements—and it had definitely been a battle. She felt oddly close to him, although she didn’t know him at all.
Why did she feel she’d come to know him on some basic human level?
Yeah, she was definitely tired.
Javi returned from the deck and grabbed the binoculars out of a cubbyhole in the cockpit. Focusing on the sea ahead, he nodded.
“We’re there.”
“You see the marker?” she asked.
“Right where it should be.”
He started the engine. Its grating rumble told her the journey was at an end. Would the noise rouse Joan and Debbie? Doubtful. As Javi predicted, her friends hadn’t reappeared since going below. Cat hoped they’d feel better when they got to dry land.
“Head into the wind,” he instructed. “I’m going to drop the main.”
While she motored up a clearly marked channel, mangroves passing on either side, the captain lashed the sail to the boom and stowed it inside a cover. Next he raised a yellow flag with a Q on it.
“What’s that?” she asked when he’d returned to the cockpit.
“Quarantine flag. We have to fly that until we’re cleared.”
The captain took the wheel and steered them into a crowded harbor full of moored boats of all sizes. Marinas full of megayachts from all over the world lined the shores. Rigging clanged against masts. A strange-sounding siren wailed in the distance. When a giant motor yacht passed them in the channel, its wake rocked the boat so hard Cat was forced to sit down.
North Bimini reminded her of the chaos of the busy World Orchid Conference on opening day.
“So much for a quiet anchorage,” Cat said.
“Yeah, this place has really changed since they built the resort,” Javi said. “It’s expensive to dock these days, but I have a buddy who’ll let us tie up for the time it’ll take to get clearance.”
“How long will that be?”
“You never know.”
He steered Spree into a dock with four or five fuel pumps. After they’d secured the boat, the captain hurried away with a stack of papers they’d worked on last night to present to Bahamas Customs, including their passports and a Maritime Declaration of Health.
She hoped seasickness wouldn’t count against the occupants of Spree.
When Javi disappeared inside the fuel dock’s office, Cat went below to check on Joan and Debbie. They couldn’t leave the boat until the captain returned with official permission. She creaked open the door to her friends’ cabin, and an unpleasant odor washed over her. She hoped they hadn’t been sick in the room, which understandably wasn’t nearly as neat as when they’d departed.
Neither of her friends reacted to her appearance. Lying on her side, Debbie snored loudly, probably thanks to a bottle of sleeping pills on the table next to the bed. On her back, Joan didn’t stir. Likely she’d been able to keep a sedative down, as well. Probably for the best.
Cat considered waking them, but decided to wait until the captain returned with permission to go ashore.
After tidying up the galley—a task impossible in the dark while sailing—she took a quick shower, which wasn’t as cold as she’d feared, and changed into clean clothes. Refreshed but hungry, she prepared a bowl of cereal and went on deck to eat and watch the world sail by. Another siren howled in the distance.
She was comfortable alone—the way she spent most of her time—but hadn’t expected this vacation with two old friends to be so solitary.
* * *
TWO AND A half hours later, with Bahamian clearance in hand, Javi returned to Spree. His time with customs took longer than it should have, but Sunday morning was the worst possible time for quick service. Plus, his bad luck, there’d been a robbery of high-grade pharmaceuticals last night in Nassau, which had put the Royal Bahamas Defence Force on high alert.
Intrigued, he’d tried to learn details, but the authorities weren’t cooperative other than telling him two cops had taken fire.
Not his problem, anyway. He was on a sail charter, and his FBI badge gave him no jurisdiction in the Bahamas. He’d declared his service weapon, which caused additional complications, more time. The authorities had reluctantly allowed him to retain it, but weren’t happy.
As he hurried down the concrete dock toward the boat, he spotted Irish in the cockpit under a huge straw hat wearing white sunglasses. She had a book on her lap, and raised her head when a Jet Ski raced by rocking Spree. Since he’d been gone so long, he thought she might fall asleep, and couldn’t decide whether it was better or worse that she was awake.
If asleep, she couldn’t put up any arguments.
Much to his surprise, she’d been great last night, and he’d enjoyed working with her. It’d been a hell of an exciting sail, reminding him how much he loved Mother Ocean. He’d bet his shield Irish had enjoyed parts of the crossing, too. Not so much her friends. Once they got out of this busy port, maybe the week would flow more smoothly.
Although who knew how charterers would react when things didn’t go their way.
“Javi.”
He halted when his friend Heathbow Smith hailed him.
“I need that space,” Heathbow said. “Sun’s getting high. Customers need my dock to buy fuel.” Sweat dripped off the Bahamian’s face. “I hope you’re planning to leave soon.”
“Soon as I top off the tank, Heath.”
Heathbow grinned, revealing a gold tooth. “Good.”
“Do you know anything about what happened in Nassau?” Javi asked. If anyone knew details it would be Heath. He’d retired from the defense force, and his brother remained on active duty.
Heathbow’s smile disappeared. “Bad business. Two cops shot, one DOA.”
Javi cursed. No wonder customs had been jumpy. A cop killed in the line of duty was an unusual event in the Bahamas.
“Perps stole a boat. They halfway to Jamaica by now,” Heath continued. “Bad weather coming, though. Tough luck for them.”
“Right. Hey, thanks, buddy. I owe you,” Javi told him, shaking his hand.
“That you do.” Heath’s grin reappeared. “I’ll collect another time.”
Irish looked up with a smile when he tugged on Spree’s dock line. She’d evidently showered and changed clothes, now appearing fresh and relaxed. Good for her. He felt grubby and anything but relaxed. He’d traded on his long-standing friendship with Heathbow too long. No telling how many sales the man had missed with Spree blocking one of his fuel pumps.
“All set?” Irish asked as she rose.
He handed her the clearance papers. “I hope your friends didn’t go ashore,” Javi said.
“They’re asleep in their cabin,” she said with a cursory glance at the paperwork. “I’ll wake them now that you’re back.”
“Don’t. We have to gas up and get out of here pronto.”
Her smiled faded. “What? We can’t stay for a while?”
“No. This is a fuel dock.”
“But I’m sure Joan and Debbie will want to check out this charming town.”
Charming? Unlocking the fuel tank, Javi said, “I thought you wanted a deserted anchorage.”
“True.” She hesitated. “But isn’t dry land the best cure for seasickness?”
“Usually.” Javi paused, trying to ascertain her mood. She appeared worried, or maybe that was frustration. Or fatigue. He still couldn’t read her. Most likely she wanted stable land under her feet, too.
“If you want to stay in Alice Town, dockage will run you several hundred dollars a night,” he said.
She raised her sunglasses onto her head, revealing those startlingly emerald eyes. “That much?”
He nodded. “Marinas charge transients by the foot.”
She looked around the harbor. “What about a mooring?”
“I doubt if there’s one available, but we still need to leave here. My friend is anxious for Spree to vacate this spot so he can make money.”
He watched with interest as she nibbled on her bottom lip. Damn, but she had an intriguing mouth. He definitely needed to catch some shut-eye if he was imagining a charterer’s mouth on various parts of his anatomy.
Apparently out of arguments, she nodded. “Can I help with the fueling?”
“Well, I’ll need a credit card.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, right.”
When she emerged from below and handed him a card, he asked, “Do you want to top off the water tanks? That way you won’t have to be so careful with showering and cleaning.”
“I suppose we have to pay for water, too?”
“You have to pay for everything. Even to dump the trash.”
She sighed. “Fortunately, we don’t have much trash yet. Do it. Deb and Joan are going to want showers when they wake up—even if the water is cold.”
Fifteen minutes later, with Spree’s tanks full of water and fuel, Cat cast off the bow line. Javi placed the engine in Reverse and backed away from the dock. Heath waved as they motored away, obviously glad to see them go.
A sixty-five-foot motor yacht squeezed into their space as soon as they vacated.
“Do you want me to get on the radio and find a place to spend the night?” he asked.
Frowning, Irish looked toward the cabin. “I wish I knew what they’d want to do.”
“Wake them up and ask.”
“I tried. They’re both out of it from sedatives.”
Javi shrugged. That’s one way to cure seasickness. “I thought the vote was for serenity.”
“Yeah, but that was before they became violently ill.”
“So it’s up to you, Irish. What do you want to do?”
“How far to an anchorage?” she asked. “The closest place to allow us to get some sleep.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, but with our depth Gun Cay is the closest safe anchorage. That’s a three-hour sail.”
She nibbled on her lower lip again, a sign she was deep in thought. At least he’d learned something about her. He needed to forget the idea of learning more.
Another Jet Ski roared by them, forcing Irish to grab hold of the wheel to keep her balance.
“Let’s stick to the original plan,” she said. “I vote for calm.”
“You got it,” he said.
* * *
FOUR HOURS LATER, with the sun well on its way toward the horizon, Cat stood behind the wheel and motored Spree toward Gun Cay. She’d expected a protected cove of some sort, but apparently they were going to anchor offshore where the land blocked the action of the wind and waves.
On the bow, having already secured the sail, Javi hoisted an anchor from a storage compartment onto the deck and returned to the cockpit. Using the binoculars, he surveyed the area around them.
“I don’t see anyone else anchored.” He handed her the binoculars and took over at the wheel.
Cat scanned the area through the lenses. As predicted there were no other boats—the reason they’d made that crazy crossing. So why did Javi look uneasy? Maybe he was worried about the depth. Maybe he always looked worried. For a sail bum, he never seemed to relax.
“This is good,” he said with a nod at the depth finder. “See the difference in the color of the bottom?”
Cat nodded, noting the water surrounding them in places appeared lighter, other spots darker.
“The lighter color means sand, which allows the anchor to dig in better than sea grass. After I drop the hook, shove the engine into Reverse and give it a little gas until I signal to stop.” He held up a clenched fist to demonstrate.
Within minutes, Javi had dropped the anchor overboard. She set the hook by backing up, forcing the tines to dig into the sandy bottom.
When he gave her the signal, she placed the engine in Neutral and moved to the bow. Looking over with Javi, she gasped at the clarity of the water. It was impossible to tell the depth, but she could see everything on the seafloor, including their anchor on the bottom maybe sixty feet away.
Javi still looked worried, though.
“Best to visually check it,” he said.
Before she could respond, he’d yanked off his shirt, revealing the flat abs and muscular chest that sparked a tug of temptation every time she got a glimpse. Without another word, he moved to the stern, flipped down a ladder she’d never noticed and dove into the ocean. He swam in the direction of the anchor. With a furious kick, he submerged, came up once to take a huge gulp of air and then dove again.
He surfaced again and used the ladder to climb into the boat. Water sluiced over every visible muscle, pooling in the cockpit at his feet. Cat swallowed and forced herself to avert her gaze.
“It’s holding,” he announced.
She remained on the bow, checking out Gun Cay, waiting for the engine to go silent. She released a relieved breath when it did. In less than a day, she’d grown to hate the sound of boat motors. Now all she could hear was the sound of the wind gently clanging the rigging on the mast, the squawk of an occasional bird and the slap of water against the side of the boat, the tide either going out or coming in.
She couldn’t make out anything on land, just a green hump on the horizon, probably trees or mangroves. She looked forward to exploring tomorrow.
Leaning against the bow support, staring at the incredibly clear blue-green water around her, Cat again marveled at how alert she remained. She ought to long for sleep, but had no desire to climb into her bunk. She suspected Javi had already collapsed in his without bothering to tell her. If she was tired, he had to be beyond exhausted, although he didn’t act it. The man was like that battery-operated rabbit that never stopped. Good thing, too.
She and her friends had been nuts to insist on this anchorage.
This whole journey had been so new, so challenging, so completely different from anything in her past, that she didn’t want to—then she heard a distinctive new sound. But one she knew well.
The pop of a cork releasing from a bottle of champagne.
Was the captain celebrating their safe arrival?
She hurried to the cockpit and found Javi—still bare chested, but with a towel around his neck—pouring wine into two of the plastic flutes they’d used for mimosas yesterday morning. Was that really just yesterday morning?
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” she said as she accepted the champagne and sat facing him across the cockpit, pushing up sunglasses that were no longer necessary.
“I’m too wired,” he said. “You?”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “I’m exhausted yet wide-awake.”
“To your first crossing,” Javi said, holding up his wine.
“And a safe arrival,” Cat said, touching his flute with hers with a plastic clink.
They both took sips. Nice. Surprised, she glanced at the bottle and realized this wasn’t the inexpensive stuff she and her friends had purchased for morning mimosas. Must be the captain’s private stash.
“Were you worried during the sail?” he asked.
“I was terrified,” she admitted. “But strangely loved every minute of it. Well, almost. Not so much when you pointed out that shark following us.”
Javi laughed. “He thought we were his mother.”
“All I could think about was Jaws.”
“You did great, Irish. You’re good crew, and I appreciate your help.”
“Thanks,” she said, hoping the flush she felt in her face didn’t show but knowing it did. Great. Now that the adventure was over, she didn’t know how to act around the captain.
He moved to sit beside her, bringing the wine bottle with him to fill her empty glass.
“This is delicious,” she said after a healthy gulp, unable to think of anything better. Just keep drinking, Cat.
Javi murmured agreement and settled into the seat against her. “I’m surprised there isn’t at least one other boat here.”
“Isn’t it off season?”
“True, but there’s a legend pirates buried treasure in this cove.”
She glanced toward land and took another swallow. “Is there any truth to that story?”
Javi shrugged. “I doubt it, but a lot of cruisers like to anchor here so they can search.”
“Don’t tell Debbie. She’ll want to buy a shovel.”
“You’re very different from your friend Debbie.”
“She’s been through a lot lately,” Cat said.
“How long have you known her?”
“We met as freshman at the University of Florida.”
“And now she’s been through a divorce.” Javi nodded. “That changes a person.”
Cat took another swallow of champagne for courage. “Is that comment from firsthand experience?”
“I’ve never been married, if that’s what you’re asking. How about you?”
* * *
WAITING FOR IRISH to answer, Javi knew he was treading in dangerous waters. What am I doing? He shouldn’t be waiting for the sunset alone in the cockpit with a gorgeous charterer, sipping champagne and asking about her marital status. He should go below and sleep.
“Nope,” she said, confirming his assumption. “Never married.”
“Boyfriend back in Miami?”
“No. My orchid nursery keeps me too busy.”
“You raise orchids for a living?”
“A family business, started by my parents. I can tell that surprises you.”
“It’s an unusual profession.” Javi poured more champagne into her flute. “I figured you for a flight attendant.”
“Flight attendant?” She flushed again, and he was charmed. “Why?”
“Beautiful woman.” He raised his wine to her. “Beautiful smile.”
“Thank you,” she said, staring at her feet.
“Do I make you nervous, Irish?” Javi asked, making his voice soft.
She glanced up to meet his gaze, started to say something, but shrugged. “Definitely.”
Smiling at her honesty, he asked, “Why?”
She raised her glass in a toast similar to his. “Beautiful man. Dangerous smile.”
He laughed. “Dangerous?”
“You remind me of a pirate.”
“Do I, now?”
“Maybe it’s the earring,” she said.
He fingered his earlobe. “I had it pierced in Bali when I was eight.”
“Did you sail there?”
He nodded. “With my parents. You don’t like piercings?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said.
“Good.”
He ran a knuckle down her cheek, and her eyes widened. Her skin was as soft as it appeared.
“Or maybe it’s your beard,” she murmured, not objecting to his touch.
“My beard?”
“That makes me think of you as a pirate.”
“But pirates are marauding criminals,” he said, continuing to stroke her cheek, fascinated by the stark desire in her glittering gaze. He’d known from their first meeting that she was attracted to him. She’d tried to hide it, but he could tell.
Champagne and fatigue made it easy to ignore the voice in his brain that cautioned him to back off. But even a saint would find it hard to resist a woman as sexy as Irish.
“I can easily see you doing some marauding,” she said.
“No way,” he said. “Believe me, I’m a law-abiding man.”
Leaning closer, his gaze tracked to her lips. She’d welcome a kiss, and he wanted to know how that gorgeous mouth would taste. Getting Irish into his bunk would be easy, although a disastrous move. The image of this siren naked and willing beneath him threatened his fragile grip on common sense. Talk about too much damned bubbly.
“So you’re a man who always sticks to the rules,” she whispered, her breath soft and warm on his chin.
Not always. He captured her mouth with his, and she made a surprised noise in the back of her throat. Her lips tasted of the excellent champagne he’d been saving for a special occasion, which he’d assumed would be when he returned to duty.
She returned his kiss, shifting closer. Encouraged, he deepened their connection. She placed her hand on his shoulder, severing his last shred of control.
He pulled back and smiled into her dazed expression.
“Let’s go below,” he said, cupping her face with his palm.
“Okay,” she murmured, her voice a sweet sigh.
He rose and took her hand. Her fingers closed around his, and she came to her feet. Back off, Javi. Back off before it’s too late.
Halfway down the stairs, another noise drowned out the warning bell clanging inside his head.
Someone in the head losing their lunch.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
CAT STARED AT Javi’s tanned, muscled shoulders as she followed him down the steps into Spree’s cabin. Is this really me? Or is this an out-of-body experience because of booze and lack of sleep?
She didn’t care. For the first time in her life, she was acting on pure impulse.
What was it about the captain that made her so reckless? When he’d dripped water into the cockpit after his swim, she’d had the insane desire to lick the liquid off his chest. Right now she wanted him to lay her down on the nearest surface and take her. She closed her eyes, imagining how he would feel inside her.
Was she really going to do this?
He’d have to put on the brakes because all she could think about was stripping off his damp shorts and touching what was inside.
Were they headed to his bunk or hers?
When Javi’s grip tightened on her fingers, she looked over his shoulder. The sight of a disheveled Debbie wearing an oversize T-shirt standing outside the bathroom roused Cat from her sensual daze.
The sound of someone being sick on the other side of the closed door jerked her back into the present.
She’d been so swept away by her lust for the captain she’d utterly forgotten about her friends.
Her sick friends.
Worse, now she was angry at them for spoiling her first—and probably last—chance to do something deliciously wild. To have an adventure.
All kinds of regret replaced annoyance when Javi dropped her hand.
“Debbie,” Cat said, stepping in front of the captain, her champagne buzz all but fizzled out. “What’s going on?”
Debbie glared at her accusingly, then shifted her gaze to Javi.
Cat sighed. Were they that obvious? Did Deb sense something between her and the captain?
“Joanie’s puking,” Debbie announced, her voice slurred.
“How are you feeling?” Cat asked. Had Deb been drinking again? Not that I have room to criticize.
“Groggy,” Deb said. “I probably shouldn’t have taken a Dramamine on top of the sleeping pill.”
Cat felt Javi slip away, but didn’t turn to watch. He was being considerate by moving into his cabin to give them a little privacy, but she wanted to go in there with him, shut the door and finish where they’d started on deck. Let it go, Cat. You know the whole kiss thing was a giant mistake.
“Where are we?” Debbie asked.
“Anchored off Gun Cay exactly like we planned,” Cat said, realizing Deb was too out of it to notice anything unusual between her and the captain. Thank goodness. The embarrassment would be bad enough without Joan and Debbie knowing about her foolish behavior. She’d never hear the end of it.
“We’ve already cleared Bahamian customs?” Deb asked.
“Hours ago. You guys slept through it.”
Joan poked her head out of the bathroom, her dark hair a tangled mess around her pale face. She wiped her mouth with a damp washcloth.
“Are you okay?” Cat asked.
“Better now,” Joan said. “I just wish the boat would quit rocking.”
“It should be a calm night,” Cat said. “The winds are forecast to die down.”
Joan shuffled into the main saloon and looked out a porthole. “Can we go ashore?” she asked.
“No,” Cat said, sitting on the sofa surrounding the table.
Debbie moved next to Joan and also gazed hopefully toward land.
“It will be dark soon,” Cat explained. “And that’s an undeveloped island. There’s nothing but a small beach.”
“Precisely like the guys in the bar promised,” Deb said.
“Damn,” Joan muttered. “We lost a whole day.”
“We can take the dinghy and go ashore at first light,” Cat said. She felt bad for her friends. So far their holiday sucked. “Tomorrow will be fabulous.”
“Maybe,” Joan muttered.
“How come you didn’t get sick?” Debbie asked.
Cat shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.” She didn’t remind them she’d followed Javi’s advice and remained on deck while her friends insisted on going to their cabin. No sense making them feel worse.
“So what have you been doing all this time?” Debbie asked.
Cat inwardly groaned as her cheeks warmed. She could never hide anything. Her feelings were always obvious on her face. The curse of the redhead.
“Helping the captain with the boat.”
But her friends continued to study the anchorage and didn’t notice.
“I guess you learned how to sail,” Debbie said, still sounding sleepy.
“A bit. Are you guys hungry?” Cat asked. “Javi and I had a sandwich during the sail here, but that seems like a long time ago.”
“God, no. My stomach is a wreck,” Joan said, sitting across from Cat.
“How about a diet soda? Sometimes carbonation helps.”
Joan nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Some vacation,” Debbie murmured.
“Sorry, guys,” Cat said. She stepped to the cooler and rummaged for sodas.
“It’s not your fault,” Debbie said, moving toward her cabin. “I’m going to bed. Until this sedative wears off, I can’t even have a conversation.”
“I hope you feel better,” Cat said.
She returned to the table with numb fingers and a couple of icy cans. She and Joan each popped a top, spraying cool mist, and Joan took a long, greedy swallow.
Wondering if Joanie had dumped too much too soon on an already queasy stomach, Cat also took a drink of the cool, sweet liquid. Maybe she should suggest they return to Florida. So far this trip hadn’t been much fun for anyone but her. And her enjoyment could be at an end now with that steamy kiss out there between her and the captain. She hadn’t known how to act around him before. How was she supposed to act now?
Sad to admit, but the scratch of his beard on her cheek had been the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.
This was a small boat. He was the captain. No way to avoid each other. Would he act like nothing had happened?
How unfair to feel awkward about one stupid kiss. If she were going to be uncomfortable, she should have gotten the full experience and enjoyed what was sure to be mind-blowing sex.
“Oh, God,” Joan said, closing her eyes. “The soda didn’t help, after all.”
“Can I do anything for you?” Cat asked.
“No. Sorry, Cat, but I’m going back to bed, too.”
Leaving her can on the table, Joan lurched to her feet and barely made it to the bathroom before the sound of dry heaves began again.
Cat sighed. Just great. Now what?
She hadn’t come on this holiday to spend the week alone.
Tomorrow would be a fresh start. The obvious thing to do would be retire to her own cabin and get some much-needed sleep. She could read for a while. Remembering the spectacular sunrise, her gaze drifted to the porthole. Sure enough, the sky already showed tinges of pink. The guys in Hattie’s Hammock had promised beautiful sunsets in Gun Cay. She didn’t want to miss the first one.
Plus, she did need to eat. The door to the head swung open. Joan emerged and slipped into her cabin, shutting the door.
Cat focused on the closed door to Javi’s cabin. Was he already asleep? She could rap lightly on the door and find out.
Yeah, she could, but a different woman would. Too bad this one didn’t have the nerve.
She could use the excuse of offering food. That wouldn’t seem too obvious.
Maybe she’d find the courage with a little more booze.
She poured her diet cola into a plastic cup, added ice, a healthy shot of rum and took a sip. Not bad. Debbie would insist on lime, but that was too much trouble.
Armed with her drink, Cat hurried up the steps to the cockpit where a gorgeous coral-streaked sky welcomed her. She froze when she spotted Javi sitting on the bow leaning against an aluminum railing and chugging out of their bottle of champagne. Or was it a second bottle?
He was bare-chested, as usual, but had changed into a dry pair of shorts.
How did he get up on deck without her noticing?
* * *
JAVI TOOK THE last swig of the champagne as he admired Irish’s approach. This novice sailor already had her sea legs—and such amazing legs they were. His gaze followed the lines of firm, strong thighs and curved calves beneath her shorts.
He frowned. Too pale. He hoped she didn’t burn.
But anyway, she was off-limits. Why couldn’t he remember that?
He’d heard the entire conversation between her and her friends. No help for it on a boat this size.
So she’d been abandoned for the night. Was she lonely? Looking for company to watch the sunset? Or something else.
Well, of course he aimed to please. He nestled the empty champagne bottle on the deck where it couldn’t roll overboard.
Irish sat down beside him, also facing the setting sun. Close enough to catch the fragrance of coconut-scented sunscreen.
Close enough for him to touch her.
“Oh,” she said. “The hatch. Of course.”
He squinted at her. “What about the hatch?”
“I couldn’t figure out how you got up here, but you boosted yourself up through the opening in your cabin.”
He nodded. So maybe she didn’t want company, after all. Maybe she’d thought she’d have the deck to herself. Once again he’d misread her.
Irish had paid good money for use of this boat. He ought to give her some space.
“Do you want me to go below?” he asked.
“What?” She blinked. “Why?”
He shrugged. “If you want privacy. I don’t mind.” Like hell he didn’t.
“No. Please don’t go.”
“You want me to stay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She wrinkled her brow.
Was she confused or thinking hard?
“That is, you know, if you want to,” she said.
Maybe she was just being polite. She did appear to be the polite type.
“I wanted to watch the sun do its thing,” Javi said.
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Sharon Hartley
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: What she wished for…and more!An adventure is exactly what Cat Sidran wants when she and two friends charter a boat for a sailing trip in the Florida Keys. Throw in a swarthy captain, and Cat has the perfect amount of excitement. Until pirates overtake them, and Captain Javi Rivas reveals himself to be an FBI agent.Working with Javi gives Cat a thrill like she’s never felt before. She can handle danger for a couple of days if it means saving her friends, but anything longer…? She loves her quiet life; Javi thrives on adrenaline. She needs to forget her captain…if that′s even possible.